After the Rain
by Sophia Hawkins
Summary: Eighth in the "Brutus" series, picking up where "In the Fast Lane" left off. In every man's life, the road is full of ups and downs, for some people the trip gets extremely bumpy before it can run smooth again.
1. Chapter 1

After the Rain

"I just can't believe that the MPs found us so fast," Murdock groaned as he opened the door to his hotel room that Face had scammed him for the night.

Hannibal appeared in the doorway behind him and said, "I know, Captain, but we're just going to have to lay low for a couple days, and this seems like a nice place."

"I know," Murdock turned to Hannibal, pouting, "But do we have to get separate rooms?"

"Murdock, I already explained if Decker starts checking around," Hannibal said, "It'll be a lot harder to find us if he can't find 1 room assigned to 4 people."

"I know but…"

Hannibal patted the Captain on the shoulder and said, "It's been a long day, why don't you just get unpacked and unwind for the night, Murdock?"

He nodded glumly and replied, "Okay, Hannibal."

"Oh by the way, Murdock," Hannibal said, the pilot turned to see him again and the Colonel added, "I know I haven't had a chance to tell you this yet, but happy birthday."

Murdock sighed and responded, "Thanks, Colonel."

Hannibal patted Murdock on the back and told him, "I promise as soon as we can get back home we'll do something to celebrate."

Murdock nodded slowly, "Sounds great."

Hannibal closed the door behind him and Murdock found himself all alone. It was late, it was hot and muggy outside and a storm was threatening to hit the city, and Murdock felt miserable, even more so now that he was separated from the others. He went through a routine of precautions, checking behind the door, in the bathroom, under the bed, he even took the mattress off to make sure there weren't any dead bodies stuffed in it, could never be too careful in that regard when staying at a motel or hotel. Satisfied that he wasn't going to have a roommate for the night, he sat down on the bed and started to untie his shoes and slipped out of his jacket; then he stood up and hung his jacket over a chair and glanced out the window, feeling a bit depressed.

Here it was his birthday, and while he knew the others hadn't forgotten, it had just been a lousy day to be born on. They'd been running from Decker all day and now had to hide out like a bunch of criminals…okay so he forgot the obvious for a minute. Still, he didn't like this, he didn't like being away from home, he didn't like being separated from the rest of the Team, and he also hated having to be away from Jean for his birthday. He hadn't made any exact plans but he'd figured he could do something with her for the day; and he was almost sure she'd had something planned for him. They hadn't known that he was around a few days ago when the others were at Jean's house for a visit. She'd come into the living room carrying a large mixing bowl in one hand and was beating the contents in it with a large spoon with the other, while she talked to Face and B.A. Face had been the one to ask her, "Now _what_ in the world is _that?_"

Jean lifted the spoon and let the batter drizzle off and back into the bowl and explained, "Well it _will_ be a cake if I can ever get in and use the oven."

"What's wrong with the oven?" Face asked.

And at that moment they all heard a loud BOOM from the kitchen. Deadpanned, Jean explained, "Hannibal's trying to fix it, need I say more?"

So they'd had to send the big angry mudsucker in to shove Hannibal out and fix it himself.

Murdock was almost _sure_ that she had been practicing baking a birthday cake from scratch, she could cook but they usually picked up a cake from a store or bakery for a special occasion. He wondered how it turned out, or if it even did?

Murdock had been so wrapped up in his thoughts and feeling sorry for himself that he hadn't noticed there was someone else in the room with him, not until he felt a pair of arms suddenly snake around him and an excited voice called out, "Hey!"

And he fell back and they both landed on the bed. Murdock turned his head and saw Jean behind him with a Cheshire cat grin on her face.

"What're you doing here?" he asked in awe.

Jean let go of him and he was able to get up and he realized that there was something different about Jean. Rarely did he ever see her out of blue jeans and T-shirts, but tonight she was dressed in what looked like a set of black pajama shorts and a black tank top. He also noticed that her hair did not stand up all the way in curls, meaning it was damp, which meant she must've washed it earlier that night.

Jean let out a giggle that sounded like a mix of satisfaction at pulling off the surprise and excitement of finally having him there with her and she told him, "I'm your present!"

"Oh no," he laughed as she crawled over to him and pinned him down and cupped his face in her hands, "How'd you get in here?"

"I was hiding in the closet, don't you know that's the third place you're supposed to look when you come in a strange room?" she asked.

He laughed as he halfheartedly tried to get away from her and found it an exercise in futility. He reached up and ran his hands up and down her in return and commented, "Ooh you're nice and soft, I see you've been using that lotion I got ya."

"Very funny," Jean remarked as she pinched him.

He sniffed her and added, "You smell nice too, you take a bath or something?"

Jean's response was to pinch him again.

"Ouch!" he yelped and laughed simultaneously, then put his arms around her and commented, "Aww, this is one of the nicest presents I ever had."

"It's not over yet," Jean told him, and pushed away from him.

"There's more?" Murdock asked as he rolled over onto his stomach and watched her head back to the closet.

He watched in amazement and amusement as Jean rolled a hotel champagne cart out of the closet, boy it must've been crowded in there.

"Sorry there's no cake," Jean said as she took a bottle out of the bucket of ice, "But you know champagne ruins the taste."

Murdock pushed up on his hands and slid off the bed and chased after her, "With you here, who needs either one?"

Jean smiled as she opened the bottle and poured them two glasses, "A toast to your birthday."

"_What_ a birthday," he replied as he took one of the glasses, "How'd you plan this?"

"Oh come on, you don't _really_ think Decker's suddenly gotten competent enough that he could chase you guys all over the city _all_ day, do you?" Jean asked.

He looked at her with wide eyes, "You planned this?"

"Hannibal helped me iron out the details," Jean answered, and explained, "_I_ reserved us this room."

"Well where're the others?" Murdock asked.

"On their way back home," Jean said with a grin, "So it's just you and me here until Monday."

"Monday?"

"That's how long I got the room for," she said.

Murdock grinned, "A three day weekend, happy birthday _indeed_!"

"So let's see, you're _how_ old now?" Jean asked.

Murdock looked down and said, "I don't know, I'll have to count the rings and then get back to you."

"You're 40 years old today," Jean said.

"That's right," Murdock replied, not sounding too happy about it.

"Well that makes it official then, doesn't it?" Jean asked.

"What?" he asked.

"You being 15 years older than I am," Jean answered as she put the bottle down.

"Yeah," Murdock sighed, feeling some of the wind going out of his sail.

Jean reached over with her free hand and ran it through his hair to get his attention, he looked up at her and gave a little smile.

"You know that's never mattered to me," she said, "I hope it doesn't to you either."

He smiled a little more and leaned over to kiss her, and said, "Just feeling a little sorry for myself I guess…kind of figured I'd already be settled down before I was this age."

Now it was Jean's turn to look somber, Murdock cupped her chin in his hand and said, "'Course if I'd done that, we wouldn't be together now."

Jean gave him a melancholic little smile and they stood like that for a while before Jean finally pulled back and said commandingly, "It's your birthday, come on, might as well get nice and drunk for the occasion."

He grinned and replied, "I'll drink to that."

* * *

It rained the entire weekend, which was just fine for the two of them because they spent it all in their hotel room, practically the whole time in bed. With a few days off from the rough and tumble life of being a fugitive on the run from the military, Murdock was enjoying having a few days to just do _nothing_ and having Jean with him to do it with. They spent the night of his birthday drinking champagne until they were both intoxicated and giddy, then spent the rest of the night rolling around on the bed roughhousing like a couple of small children.

It occurred to Murdock that while Jean's choice ensemble for the night wasn't anything particularly alluring, a full length tank top and shorts that came down near to her knees, it was the closest that she could convince herself to be seen in, and despite the simplicity of it, he loved it because it was still a side of her he was not accustomed to seeing much. He also remembered though, a previous comment she had made once before about a serious dislike of wearing pajamas due to the sick patient feeling that they seemed to give her, so to make it fair for her, he'd gotten changed out of his clothes into a pair of his own pajamas and agreed to wear them for as long as she wore hers. She seemed pleased with this compromise, but couldn't help laughing when he emerged from the bathroom in a pair of short pajamas of his own. He had figured that would be her response, and it was what he was going for because despite how much they'd had to drink, she still needed to loosen up a bit.

Saturday they stayed in bed and slept late, when they did wake up Murdock turned the TV on to the daily cartoons and they watched from the foot of the bed where they'd repositioned all of the pillows. The afternoon was spent laying in bed holding onto each other as they listened to the rain falling outside. After dinner they took turns getting cleaned up in the bathroom, and changed into a different set of pajamas, then got settled back into bed to watch a movie on TV. About halfway through the film, Murdock reached over and grabbed Jean's hand and said to her, "Darling, what would you say if I suggested we get married tonight?"

Jean looked at Natalie Wood and Robert Redford on the TV and said, "I hope you're not taking pointers from this guy, you _leave_ me on our wedding night and I'll..."

He smacked her hand playfully and replied, "Don't be silly…come on, what would you say?"

Without missing a beat she replied, "I'd say forget it."

"How come?" he asked.

"You can't get married at your birthday," Jean told him, "Ever year after that you'd have your birthday and your wedding anniversary right on top of each other, it'd be just like having your birthday at Christmas," she shook a finger at him and said, "You'd get too spoiled."

"Alright, what about tomorrow night?" he asked.

"No," she answered as she rolled away from him and onto her side.

"How about the night after that?" he tried again.

"No," she repeated.

"Boy you are a stubborn one," Murdock said as he raised his hand over her backside as if he was contemplating spanking her, then turned away and added, "Any other woman would be jumping at the chance to get married as soon as possible, you just drag it out."

"That's their problem," she replied with a giggle.

Murdock scowled at her and suddenly grabbed her and flipped her onto her back and pinned her down and said, "You know we could have a lot more good times together once we get hitched."

Jean smiled coyly as she calmly and knowingly replied, "Oh but darling, I'm simply having too much fun as it is now stringing you along all the time."

Murdock tried not to smile or laugh but he was failing in both regards as he tried to sound serious as he told her, "You are the most stubborn woman I have ever known."

"I'll take that as a compliment," she replied, and pushed him off of her so she could roll over to her own side of the bed again. Murdock grabbed her and rolled her over towards him again and wrapped his arms around her waist and they both lay curled on their sides.

"Well one thing about it," Jean said she looked up towards him, "At least nobody can ever say I married you for your money."

Murdock dug the fingers on one hand into her hair and scratched down to her scalp like he was petting a dog and said, "It'll be great." He kissed her on the top of her head and added, "Thanks for the great birthday present, darling."

"Don't thank me yet," she told him, "We still got tomorrow before we have to go home."

Murdock made a noise of enthusiasm as he gripped her tighter and said, "I'm looking forward to it."

She turned her head to the side to see him and said, "Don't get too excited, all we've done so far is stay in bed all day and night."

"I know," Murdock said in a pleased tone, she could hear him grinning.

* * *

Jean woke up the next morning feeling a hand tracing over the side of her face, she opened her eyes and saw Murdock sitting up in the other side of the bed looking at her and wearing a big smile.

"What's going on?" she tiredly asked.

"Nothing, just watching you sleep," he said.

Jean scoffed and said, "You need a new hobby."

For a split second, a horrible thought crossed Jean's mind and she shot up in her side of the bed and tossed back the covers to look at her legs as she moved them. When they did, she let out a sigh of relief and slipped back against the pillows.

Murdock patted his hand on her shoulder and told her, "You're alright."

Jean huffed and puffed a couple times as she started to calm down. Then she pushed back the covers and got up and walked around a little, as if to prove she still could. Murdock told her to come over to his side of the bed, she did and asked, "What is it?"

Murdock surprised her by suddenly grabbing her and pulling her onto the bed, practically right onto his lap.

"I love you," he said as he held her tight and kissed her.

"Very funny, Murdock," she said as she shifted her weight to scoot off of him, but before she could, he held he in place and started making a 'hmmm'ing sound, and then he started to laugh.

"Well, looks like you're finally putting some weight on again, guess I was able to fatten you up again a little after all," he said.

"Oh yeah?" she replied, and lifted herself up and threw her weight down against him.

"Oof," he groaned.

Jean chuckled under her breath and patted him on the head condescendingly. He looked at her and said with a smile, "You know, this is nice…I like it like this when it's just the two of us and we don't have to go anywhere and can just relax like this."

Jean didn't say anything and just nodded, as if she were afraid of where this conversation might go if they both participated in it. Murdock leaned back and pulled her down with him and they both fell against the pillows.

"All those years I spent locked up at the V.A., I couldn't stay still for anything," Murdock told her, "Being here with you though…I could get used to this."

Jean reached up and hooked a finger around a particularly long piece of his hair and said, "So long as you don't wake up back in that nut ward, eh?"

"Well let's face it," he said to her, "After being on the outside for a year, who would want to?"

Jean looked at him and said, "They won't take you."

"Oh yeah?" he asked.

Assuredly she explained, "I won't let them. You kept the staff amused for 10 years but I can scare the hell out of every last one of them if need be."

Murdock chuckled a bit and relaxed against her. He reached a hand up into her hair as well and said, "I love you, darling."

She smiled back at him and replied, "I love you too."

* * *

Early Monday morning, Jean woke up in a dark room and heard the water running in the bathroom. She pushed back the covers and got up, making her way around in the dark without turning on the lights yet; she knew that they'd both had a lot to drink last night and the proof of that was still laying around the room. Practically working from memory she rounded up the empty bottles and glasses and tossed them all in the wastebasket. Then she made the bed, found her bag, changed into a set of actual clothes for the day, and then went over to the bathroom and knocked on the door.

"I'm i-i-in the sho-o-o-o-o-w-er," Murdock called out in a singsong tone.

Jean opened the door and said, "I _knew_ that."

The curtain was pulled back enough for Murdock to poke an eye through and see her and he asked, "How ya feeling, hon?"

"Fine," she answered, "You?"

"Getting a draft," Murdock answered as he pulled the curtain shut again.

"So," Jean said as she went over to the shower, "You think they'll have a lot of questions for us when we get back?"

From behind the curtain and the wall of steam she heard Murdock reply, "Oh I doubt it, if I know those guys they probably won't even acknowledge we were gone, or that we're even there."

Jean smirked as she struggled not to laugh as she went over to the shower and said, "Yeah could be, but you know I can't help wondering something," and in one quick move she grabbed the shower curtain and yanked it open, not enough to actually see anything but enough for Murdock to take notice, which he did.

"EEEEEEEEK!" was the high pitched response.

Jean grinned and let go of the curtain and added, "What then is their response going to be when we go away for our wedding?"

"I wouldn't worry about that," Murdock said, "It'll be what they do when we come _back_."

"What do you think _that'll_ be?" she asked.

Murdock pulled the curtain open enough to stick his top half out and said, "Jean, consider for a moment just _what_ the two of us are…you really think they'll _want_ to know anything that goes on during the honeymoon?"

"Good point," she replied. She turned away from him and added under her breath, "Two weeks in the middle of nowhere with sock puppets, an invisible dog, cut up bed sheets and a Thunderbird obsessed with white paper, if I was Hannibal I wouldn't want to know either."

* * *

Hannibal, Murdock and Jean sat at a table in an outdoor café as they waited for Face and B.A. to join them. After a few minutes of waiting, a waitress came out to take their orders, but she only took Hannibal and Jean's orders and then went back inside.

"You see?" Murdock asked Hannibal.

"See what?" Hannibal glanced over his newspaper.

"She looked around and noticed you, but not me," Murdock pointed out.

"That's because I'm better looking," Hannibal answered.

"No you're not," Jean was quick to let the air out of his balloon, "You're old, you're gray, you're pudgy, you sag, you are grandpa material, _not_ some woman's idea of eye candy."

Hannibal didn't bother responding to that one except to roll his eyes.

"I'm telling you, Hannibal," Murdock said, "All I have to do is think about white paper and concentrate, and then I become invisible."

Jean didn't even bother getting into the middle of that one and just said, "I hope Face and B.A. get here soon."

And a few minutes later they did, and joined them at the table.

"Isn't Murdock going to be joining us?" Face asked.

"Crazy fool already here," B.A. pointed across the table.

Face looked but said, "I don't see anything."

Jean poked her tongue around in the inside of her cheek to cover up how close she was coming to laughing at B.A.'s expense.

Murdock did a few small weird gestures and then said, "You see, Hannibal? I told you, all I have to do is focus on white paper and I become invisible."

"Murdock, when did you get here?" Face asked.

"Now don't _you_ start encouraging him, Face," B.A. warned him.

"Alright Hannibal, we're all here so what is it you called us about?" Face asked.

"Yeah," Murdock and Jean were also eager to know, especially since they'd been waiting the longest to find out.

Hannibal smirked at their inquisitiveness and said slowly, "Well…we've got a new client."

"Where?" was B.A.'s first question, asked in his typical 'we ain't flying' tone.

"Well believe it or not it's relatively close by," Hannibal said, "We wouldn't have to drive anymore than…an hour or two at best."

B.A. flashed a rare, frightening grin at that news.

"So what is it this time?" Face asked, "Another protection racket? Or…is it another cop on the take this time?"

"Are we gonna have to get some garbage trucks and fill them up again?" Murdock added.

Hannibal grinned and shook his head, "Nope…this time about all we have to do is a little house sitting."

"Huh?" everybody asked.

Hannibal chuckled at everybody's confusion and explained, "I ran into an old friend today that I haven't seen in a good number of years…seems he's having some trouble with his neighbors and wants our help."

"When you say 'some trouble with his neighbors'," Face said, "You mean…"

"Picture the Hatfields and the McCoys about a hundred years later," Hannibal answered.

"Ah!" Face replied sharply and sarcastically, as if that explained everything.

"So what's he want you guys to do?" Jean asked.

"Well he's the only one left of his family, and he's still got a houseful of violent idiots living across from him…he's an old man now and can't do very well for himself against a whole pack…so he's going to go on vacation and…his country cousins from down south are going to come and housesit for a while."

"His _what_?" B.A. asked.

Jean poked at her food and said, "This is a new one even for you, Hannibal."

"Thank you," he replied as he took out a cigar and lit it.

"So what're you guys going to do?" she asked.

"Well we're going to show up and make our presence known…strictly benign at first…and once we get a handle on what's going on…"

"Take out the trash," Jean said, "How long do you anticipate being gone?"

"Oh probably a few days," Hannibal answered, he looked to her and asked, "Incidentally do _you_ have anything planned?"

Jean dropped her fork and asked him, "What, me come with you?"

"Yes," Hannibal said, "For what I've got planned we're going to need a woman with us and Amy unfortunately is unavailable at the present time."

"And what," Jean pointed to Face, "You couldn't get this Casanova to dig up a seat cushion from his little black book?"

"Hey!"

"No no," Hannibal shook his head, "No offense to Face's uh…'acting lessons'," he didn't miss the burning glare he got in return from his Lieutenant, "But we need somebody with an IQ above that of a potted cactus."

"Ouch," Murdock commented.

"Hannibal I'm really surprised at you," Face said.

"Why, because he's being honest?" Jean asked.

Face looked at her and said, "That is a very narrow minded, chauvinistic…"

"It's _true_, Face," Jean emphasized, "It's no secret you don't seek women out for their intelligence or their 'brilliant personalities'."

"Oh what would you know? The only time you're ever around to see any of my dates is when you scare them off," Face said.

"Now _how_ could I do that?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"How about that time you came into the room with those fruit bats on a string and yelled 'rabid bats!'?" Face asked.

"I _told_ you I was rehearsing my lines," Jean said, "Besides Murdock had to talk to you and it got you out of the room."

Hannibal folded his arms on the table and chuckled as he watched them argue and commented to himself, "Might as well go in as the Tuttle family again at this rate."

"Hannibal," Jean spoke up, "_Why_ am I coming along for this job?"

He looked at her and answered, "Well you're going to be my little experiment."

"Your _what_?" the others asked.

Hannibal only flashed a grin that set Face on edge and he explained, "While we're there I'm going to conduct a little sociological experiment…it's no problem for these people to go after an old man living by himself, and it will also probably be no problem for them to go after a whole houseful of men…_but_ I want to see if they're cold blooded enough that they would come after four men _and_ a young _blind_ woman."

"A _what_?" the others asked.

"Hannibal," Jean managed to keep a straight face and a calm demeanor as she reminded him, "Incase you've forgotten, I'm no Audrey Hepburn."

Face snorted and remarked, "You wouldn't even make it as Katharine Hepburn." The next word out of his mouth after they heard a noise under the table was, "OUCH!"

"You're no Patty Duke either," Hannibal replied, "But that's beside the point."

"Hannibal," Murdock interjected, "_Who_ is this old friend of yours? Is it someone we know?"

"I don't think so, Murdock," Hannibal answered, "See this is someone that I knew before I went to Vietnam."

"That's a long way back alright," Jean commented.

"So who is it exactly?" Face asked.

"Well actually," Hannibal explained, "…he was more a friend of my parents', I knew him rather well but we were never exactly too close."

"So let's see," Jean said, "You're over 50, he was a friend of your parents…old man _indeed_."

"Uh, Hannibal," Face decided to point out, "_We_ all can pass as cousins, but how're…I mean what're…" he caught the glare B.A. was giving him and sank back in his chair, "How're we going to explain him?"

"Well he _did_ say _southern_ cousins," Murdock said.

B.A. growled at him and Murdock too leaned back in his chair and away from the table.

"Oh it's all very simple," Hannibal explained, "B.A. will go on ahead and get set up in the house tonight, and the rest of us will follow tomorrow."

"Oh…_just_ that simple," Face sarcastically remarked.

"We're gonna need _two_ vehicles then," Murdock said.

Jean shook her head and told Hannibal, "You're _not_ taking my car, if I can't drive us there we're not taking it."

"You're going to be blind," Face reminded her, "You _can't_ drive, remember?"

"Who says I can't?" she asked.

"Face," Hannibal calmly spoke over the others.

Face looked at Hannibal and they both said at the same time, "Get us a car."

"Yeah," Hannibal told him, and added, "Preferably an older model that will fit us all comfortably and doesn't look too fancy."

"You mean an old junker," Face said.

"Precisely," Hannibal answered, "We'll get much further if we don't come off as being too bright, and appearance _is_ nine tenths of the law, so if you can find us something that's kind of dented, kind of faded, could use a few coats of paint, maybe the tires don't match, that would be perfect."

"Hannibal, any idiot could get us a car like that," Face said.

"I know Face, but you're the only one we have on hand right now," Hannibal told him.

"Hey!"

Hannibal looked across the table and chuckled.


	2. Chapter 2

"Maybe whatever we didn't use up, we ought to take with us," Murdock said as he put a box of fireworks left over from the 4th of July down by the rest of the stuff they were packing to take with them the next day.

Jean reached into the box and took out one of the novelty fireworks that had a cardboard covering making it look like a howitzer and said to Face, "You know, I don't know, what with a lot of guys that came back from the war with PTSD and all that, don't you think some of these that look like tanks or helicopters or paratroopers, think it might be in poor taste?"

Face shrugged, "Don't ask me, I never buy them, you and Murdock were the ones that went out and picked them up, remember?"

She didn't answer him, he looked over and saw she had leaned back in her chair and seemed to be scrutinizing every detail of the novelty firework, but he could tell her mind wasn't on the cannon in her hand.

"Oh come on, Jean, it was a great 4th, we all had a great time and your parents got to come out," Face said.

"Yeah," Jean moped as she put the cannon back in the box, "But they sure didn't stay long…and when they did, Murdock had to stay in the guest room." She looked at him and explained, "Even though there's nothing going on, somehow I don't think the fact that he and I share the bedroom would sit too well with them."

"Well why don't you just tell them that you're getting married already?" Face asked as he sat down between the two of them, "That would clear everything up, wouldn't it?"

"I can't," Jean told him as she leaned further back in the chair so the front legs tipped, "I can barely tell her that we're dating."

"Speaking of which, how's that going?" Murdock asked.

"Well," she said, "I remember to call and tell her either every week or every other week…so we're building up to that little revelation."

"Yeah but you guys _don't_ go out every week," Face pointed out, "You two hardly date at all."

"I know that!" Jean told him, "But I have to tell her something, otherwise when I tell her we're getting married, it'll be too big of a leap, she's going to know something's wrong and that I've been lying to her this whole time."

"Oh come on, she'd have to know that with a guy like Murdock things aren't exactly going to be 'normal'," Face said.

Jean shook her head, "That's the point, she doesn't know Murdock like you do, she doesn't know him like I do, she doesn't know _any_ of you like _I_ do…and I'm trying to convince her and dad to move out here and live in the same neighborhood as us? What the hell was I thinking?"

It was a question Face truly couldn't answer, though Murdock was able to offer some insight, "You was thinking they're not getting any younger and after being out here for more than a year already, it would be nice to be near them again without having to commute back and forth 6,000 miles each time. And it's a very good point, whether or not they're going to be grandparents any time soon doesn't matter, you still need them around."

Jean shook her head, "They're never gonna go for it."

"You said the same thing when we invited them out here for the 4th, we pulled _that_ off," Murdock pointed out, "As you said, it's a gradual process…we'll get them out here yet, just you wait."

Jean dismissed the topic and asked Face, "Did you get my glasses?"

"Oh yeah," Face reached into his pocket and took out a set of pitch black shades and told her, "Blind man black, just as you requested."

Jean grimaced as she unfolded them and put them on, "Look like Jim Jones."

"Now the next question, Face," Murdock said, "The real important one, _did_ you get us a car?"

"Yes, I found one," Face told him, "I found this old junker convertible that looks like it was showroom new over 40 years and a couple hundred thousand miles ago."

"Ah, that's perfect!" Murdock beamed.

"Sure, but for what?" Jean asked.

* * *

The next morning, Jean sat alongside Murdock in the back seat of the car as Face rode up front with Hannibal. Everybody was about sick from all the bumps in the road they kept hitting, and Jean kept having to readjust her sunglasses after every time.

"So what kind of a place is this we're heading to?" Jean asked as she looked at the old map they'd brought with them.

"I don't know," Hannibal confessed, "I haven't been out to see the old place yet myself."

Jean gave up trying to figure out where they were and where their final destination was and gave the map to Murdock and instead pulled a pocket book out from under her seat and opened it to the middle. Face caught this in the rear mirror and turned around and asked her, "What do you think you're doing?"

"It's a funny little habit I picked up when I was 3, it's called reading," Jean cynically answered.

Face snatched the book away from her and said, "Jean, you're supposed to be blind, you're not able to read, remember?"

"Well we're not there yet," Jean replied, "And I want to find out how Rambo dies at the end."

Murdock turned to her and asked in disbelief, "He _dies_?"

"Mm-hmm."

Jean waited a couple of seconds and then pulled a large hardback book out from under her seat and started to read it instead; Face also caught this in the mirror and turned and jerked it away from her. Jean waited until he was distracted again, and this time she took out a comic book to read. Face turned from the other side this time, yanked it away from her and hit her on the head with it.

"Don't dent my comic book!" Jean told him as she grabbed for it, "It's going to be a collector's item."

"Yeesh," Face murmured to Hannibal, "She's sounding more like Murdock every day."

Hannibal looked up to the rear view mirror and chuckled under his breath, Face turned around and saw Murdock was reading a comic book in one hand and a novel in the other.

"I give up," Face said.

"You should've done that long ago," Hannibal told him.

Face half groaned as he looked down at his clothes again, he still didn't know _how_ he had let himself get talked into this. Murdock had been gung ho about getting the chance to play a country hick, 6 A.M. he'd come in and gotten everyone up, wearing jean shorts, no shoes, a blue and white gingham button up shirt, a straw hat, and was even chewing on a piece of ragweed. Jean was at least partially going along with it, she too had suddenly decided to go barefoot for this trip, though it wasn't much surprise, it seemed to Face that lately she was going through some kind of delayed rebellion against wearing shoes, something you'd expect from a kid but hardly from a 25-year-old woman. Hannibal had taken the liberty to pick out Face's clothes to make sure he looked _just_ right and he'd gotten stuck wearing a dirty white T-shirt and a set of blue denim bib overalls. Hmm, maybe B.A. _would_ fit in after all, he thought. And as for Hannibal, he was doing a fine job of looking like something between Jed Clampett and Pa Kettle, nobody would ever know him, and ooh what a fine bunch they made up, he was sure.

"So Hannibal, who _is_ this friend of yours?" Jean asked.

"Yeah Hannibal, how come you never told us about him before?" Murdock asked.

"Well like I explained before, I hadn't seen him for several years," Hannibal said.

"And still he obviously knew you," Jean told him.

Hannibal shrugged and said lightly, "A curse, mine is a face you don't forget. But to answer, he used to work with my father a _long_ time ago, I met him when I was about 4 years old."

"So what's he been doing for all this time?" Face asked.

Hannibal took a moment to answer before finally saying, "Traveling. He apparently came into some money a while ago and has just been seeing the world."

"And he chooses to settle down _here_ for his twilight years?" Jean asked, "Weird guy."

"Well it _is_ California," Hannibal remarked.

"So did he give you any specifics about what the problem with his neighbors is?" Murdock asked, trying today for a more southern drawl.

"Hector's not a man of many words," Hannibal said.

"You mean like Unc Nunkie from the Oz series?" Jean asked.

Hannibal chuckled, "Thankfully he's a little better than that…but I know the man, I can tell when something's wrong. Add to the fact that there're about a dozen of them and only one of him, those aren't good odds for an elderly man."

"Well," Jean said with a huff, "I still don't understand what it is we're going to do, but you're the leader, we'll follow your order."

Murdock leaned over to the front seat and snatched one of Jean's books back from Face.

"Ah," he said as he opened to the title page, "Dracula…" he held it up so it was only from his eyes up that he looked over the top to Jean and asked her, "You read this one before?"

"About 10 years ago," she answered, "I don't even remember most of it. I sure wish now that I'd taken that speed reading course when I was back in school."

Murdock flipped to the last page inquisitively and noted, "This doesn't seem all that long."

"Not that one," Jean handed him a second book, then reached under her seat again and this time she dropped down a couple inches and showed him another book that looked like somebody tried putting all 26 encyclopedias into one volume and dropped it in his lap.

"Oof!" he commented.

Jean pointed to the two older books and told him, "I found these in a second hand shop a while back, _these_ were written decades before Dracula ever was."

"Huh, how bout that?" Murdock asked, "And that shyster Stoker gets the credit for creating the vampire genre, go figure…and…" he glanced over the titles, The Vampire and Varney the Vampire, or The Feast of Blood, "How do these compare?"

"I don't know, I haven't read them yet," Jean said, "Who knows _how_ long we're going to be staying out here?" She did a double take looking at him and added, "Now you're _not_ going to tell me that you can speed read too?"

"Ah…okay, I won't," Murdock said indecisively.

"Brother," Jean groaned as she got settled in her seat.

"Hm?" Face turned to look towards her.

"Not you," Jean said as she kicked the back of his seat.

"Oh yeah," Hannibal said deadpanned, "They'll _definitely_ buy our act."

* * *

"You know, Hannibal," Murdock said as they neared the house, "We're gonna need some groceries while we're staying here."

"I'd say that's a safe bet," Hannibal said.

"Well when we get the shopping done, I'm going to pick up a few things to try my hand at some Cajun cooking," he said.

"No!" the other occupants of the car told him.

Murdock twisted and turned in his seat looking at them all and said, "Alright, _southern_ cooking, let's see, gonna need some catfish, some cornmeal, dirty rice…"

Jean reached over and jabbed Face's head with her elbow and she said to him, "If it's a choice between letting these two cook, I say we get pizza."

Face laughed in response.

"Hey look!" Jean pointed up ahead.

And it didn't take long to find out what she was pointing at. If this was the place they were to stay at, then _what_ a place it was. The house was three stories tall, had three windows on the third floor right under the roof, and tall white pillars that divided the space between each window on the first and second floors and a white wraparound balcony on the first and second floors.

"I believe the term is southern plantation style home," Murdock said as they came to a stop on the house's property.

Jean leaned over to Face and murmured, "Perfect considering we're staying with a guy who's new thing is trying to talk like Tennessee Williams."

"Where's B.A.?" Face asked.

"And where's this guy Hector?" Jean added.

Hannibal stood up in the front seat and looked around, also puzzled, he had expected Hector to be waiting for them when they arrived. Then he saw the old man come around from the corner of the house and he smiled, "There he is."

Murdock almost seemed to be hissing as he took in the sight of the tall, thin man with short white hair and tiny spectacles, dressed in a black suit. He pulled his jacket up over part of his face and held his other hand out and said in a gravely voice, "The master approaches."

Everybody got out of the car, Face and Murdock remembering to help Jean before getting their bags. Hannibal went over to Hector and greeted him, "Hello, Hector."

"Hello Johnny," the old man replied, "I'm glad you could come."

"Well we're happy to be here," Hannibal told him, "So what's the trouble?"

"Uh…" Hector pointed to the other three and asked, "Will they be alright alone for a moment?"

"Sure."

"Alright, follow me," Hector said and went around to the side again, with Hannibal following behind him.

"See that house over there?" Hector asked.

Hannibal looked across the way and said, "Hector, there's only _one_ house over there."

"Well good, you pass the eyesight test," Hector joked, "Anyway, that's where they are."

"How many did you say there were?"

"Oh, who can tell?" Hector asked, "They all look like duplicates or something…first couple months I lived here, we didn't pay much attention to each other…now I've had everything from my mail stolen to holes dug and covered in my yard where I can about break my neck, to my power lines knocked down to rocks thrown through my windows…I don't mind telling you I'm not too eager to see how they plan to up the ante, one of the last things they did was dump a dead animal on my front porch."

Hannibal clapped the older man on the shoulder and said assuredly, "Well now that we're here we'll get it taken care of, but you don't have any idea why they're onto you?"

Hector shook his head, "If a feller don't do nothing to them, why should they ambush me? I had nothing against them, all I can be blamed for is not making more of an effort to know them, but why would I want to?"

"Yeah," Hannibal nodded, "Well don't worry, Hector, we'll deal with it."

"Now, I've already given some of the basics to that sergeant of yours," Hector said, "But I'll give you the full details of what you can expect while you're staying here…it's not _just_ the neighbors, Johnny, at least I don't think it is…"

"Well what for example?" Hannibal asked.

Hector started to count off on his fingers and do a little gesturing towards the house and property, "The lights have a tendency to go out at any given time…now you wouldn't think with only two houses out here that we'd have much to fight over to get the power divided, but apparently it's something to do with problems the electric company's having…so there're a few flashlights throughout the place and a lot of candles, we had enough kerosene lanterns explode in the house I won't trust them."

Hannibal chuckled in remembrance when those were a more common household object, "I don't blame you."

"Also," Hector told him, "The water's not so good."

"It's polluted?" Hannibal asked.

"Well no, not much anyway given this is the country, but I mean it's not too reliable either, sometimes it don't come on, or if it does, the pressure's bad."

"I can have B.A. look into that _and_ the lights," Hannibal said.

"Well suit yourself, but there _is_ a pump around back if you need to bring some water in, the rain ain't always so good to fall around here you know. Now…lately the winds have been picking up here, makes an awful racket but so far everything's been good to not blow away or fall over, _except_ for the lines on occasion."

"Okay," Hannibal replied.

"And look, Johnny, I _know_ you and your boys were Special Forces and therefore don't have a lot of competition to worry about from a bunch of drunken idiots with shotguns, but all the same _be careful_, they _do_ like to see if they can make ya dance."

"Hmm, sounds like we'll have a good ol' time here," Hannibal joked.

Hector looked at Hannibal and smiled, and when the colonel wasn't expecting it the old man reached over and mussed up his hair.

"Same ol' Johnny, nothing _ever_ could faze you," he smiled, "You just take care of yourself, I don't want to have to come back here and bury you under my roses."

"Don't worry about me, Hector, we know what we're doing," Hannibal assured him.

"I know you do," Hector chuckled as he drew the younger man into a strong bear hug, "My little Tweedledee's all grown up."

Hannibal felt some color rising in his cheeks, apparently as old as both of these two lived he was never going to be allowed to forget that.

"Alright Hector," Hannibal said as he drew back from him, "Now do you know what you're going to do when you leave here?"

"Yeah," Hector held up a key and said, "I use this to get into your house, if anybody asks I'm Max Murdock and I own the place and am keeping three bedrooms up for my unruly grandchildren coming to visit. I take the second bedroom down the hall…stay _out_ of the bedroom at the far end of the hall because that's _little_ Murdock's room."

Hannibal chuckled, "Close enough."

"Also don't touch anything in the _first_ bedroom or your sergeant will wring my neck like a dishcloth," he added, "And don't call _any_ of the numbers in the little black book in the third bedroom."

Hannibal laughed even harder, "Only if you want to give those women the shock of their lives."

"Oh one more thing," Hector said, "Do _I_ need to look out for the dog, or did you bring him with you?"

"Uh…" Hannibal tried to remember, "I'll get back to you on that."

* * *

Jean lolled her head from one side to the other as she rocked back and forth in the white wooden rocker on the front porch as they waited for Hannibal to come back around front with the old man. Face stood by the porch's railing looking out on the yard below and Murdock was in a rocker next to Jean's and reading from Dracula in a hissing tone. Jean looked to Face and told him, "I've only been blind for 10 minutes and already I'm bored out of my skull, how do these people do it?"

"They don't have any choice," Face pointed out.

"Still," Jean took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes, "Can't read, can't drive, can't see anything, whoever decided there was still a point in living?"

"Helen Keller?" Face replied.

Jean didn't seem to listen and continued, "4th of July would be among the worst, hearing the fireworks don't mean anything if you can't see them.

They heard the front door open and Jean put her glasses back on and swooned her head to the side to see B.A. come out.

"Where you suckers been?" he asked.

"Waiting for Hannibal to get back," Face answered, "What do you make of the place, B.A.?"

B.A. just shook his head, "This a weird place."

"Well then we ought to fit in just fine," Face said.

Murdock looked up from his book and said in a thick accent sounding like some variation of German, "Enough shrubbery out there to hide a dozen assassins!"

"Huh?" both Face and B.A. asked.

Jean giggled as she pushed back in the rocker and said, "Old movie on last night."

Murdock continued by standing up and gesturing dramatically as he said in a grandstanding matter, "The Bat _always_ flies at midnight…and _always_ in a straight line!"

"So if you see any odd drag marks around the property, don't be surprised," Jean told them.

"Uh B.A.," Murdock said now in his normal voice, "How many…" he pointed up to the second floor, "How many bedrooms are there in this place?"

"Six," B.A. answered.

"Six," Face repeated, "Well then uh…we each get our own and have one to spare."

"What's on the third floor?" Jean asked as she rocked back again.

"Look like storage, old boxes and trunks, then another room about empty," B.A. answered.

"Well how many bathrooms?" Face asked, hoping that he wouldn't have to share one with the rest of them, it cut into his morning ritual; he simply did _not_ roll out of bed first thing in the morning looking like this.

"Two, one upstairs, one down," B.A. told him.

"Well it'll be a little crowded but we ought to be able to deal with it," Face said.

"Hannibal ain't coming back, we might as well go in and check the place out," Jean said as she stood up suddenly.

"Remember you're blind," Face reminded her again, "You can't see where you're going, you _feel_ everything."

"Fine," Jean went over to him and patted his face and mussed up his hair, then she moved over to Murdock and gave him a light frisking and tickled his stomach, making him laugh in a high pitched screech, then she went over to B.A., felt the muscle behind the bib of his overalls and said, "Excuse me ma'am," and headed for the door.

"Ma'am?" Face and Murdock lowly asked each other as they followed her in.

* * *

Despite it being early in the morning, the inside of the house was dark and Jean had to take her glasses off to be able to see anything.

"Looks like the way they furnished houses in those old movies," she said.

"I like it," Murdock noted as they passed through from the dining room into the kitchen.

"Yeah…looks like Hector's got some class to him after all," Face added.

The back door opened and Hannibal and Hector came in as Hector seemed to be wrapping up the tour for Hannibal, "And here's the kitchen, the ventilation in here is not so good so it easily becomes overheated."

"Sounds like home," Hannibal said with a grin as he looked around the place.

Hector chuckled and turned to see the others looking at them.

"Oh, allow me," Hannibal said, "This is Face."

"How do you do?" the Lieutenant replied, sporting a grin just as phony as Hannibal's that he knew so well.

"Murdock," Hannibal continued.

"Howdy," Murdock offered his hand to the old man.

"Oh _little_ Murdock!" Hector said humorously.

Murdock gave Hector an unusual look in response to that oddball comment but didn't say anything about it.

"And this is Jean," Hannibal added.

Jean gave a little wave with her sunglasses and said unenthusiastically, "And I suppose for the day I'm supposed to be Elizabeth Hartman."

"Funny," Hector replied, "You look more fit for Julie Harris."

"Julie Harris never played a blind woman," Jean said, then turned to Murdock and added, "Did she?"

"No but once upon a time she did make a very convincing boy," Hector told her.

"You're on thin ice, Hector," Hannibal confided in the man, "I'd leave now or you won't have to worry about your neighbors killing you."

Hector laughed and replied, "Alright, Johnny, I'll see you 'round."

Face, Murdock and Jean looked at each other and asked in unison, "Johnny?"

Hannibal shrugged helplessly as he kicked the door shut behind him, "I said he was a friend of my _parents_." He turned to B.A. and asked, "You've already been here about a day, you notice anything out of our new neighbors yet?"

B.A. shrugged, "Seen a few people come in and go out, that's about it."

"Well it shouldn't take them long to notice that Hector's gone and _we're_ here," Hannibal said.

"And when they do, then what?" Face inquired.

Hannibal shrugged and said coyly, "We introduce ourselves."

Jean leaned over to the others and murmured, "I get the feeling we've just stepped into another 'piece of cake' plan."

"You noticed that too, eh?" Face asked.

* * *

"I don't get why I have to have my own room," Jean said as she watched Hannibal get her stuff unpacked in the room farthest down the hall.

"Because," he said in an authoritative tone, "Our rooms on the other side of the hall face the Hatfields across the way…they try shooting us in the middle of the night you'll be the last target they'll aim for."

"How concerned of you," Jean dryly remarked, "But I can look after myself and I can do it just fine bunking with Murdock."

He grabbed her as she moved past him and knocked her down on the bed and told her, "Not until we get a handle on the place and know what to expect. Your windows face furthest away from where you're going to be sleeping tonight."

"Then why can't Murdock stay in here with me?" she asked.

"Because I want him by the front side incase we have to spring into action tonight," Hannibal told her.

"Will you _stop_ that!" she grabbed her bag and raised her foot, threatening to kick him in the stomach if he didn't back off, "I packed this thing myself, I can _unpack_ it myself."

"Just as long as you understand that tonight _you_ are going to stay here in your room and Murdock is going to stay across the hall in _his_ room," he reminded her.

"Can't I just sleep on the floor with Billy?" she asked.

Hannibal shook his head, "Sorry, kid."

Jean felt like somebody just shoved a rock down her stomach. Forgetting was as bad as being forgotten, but the only thing worse than _being_ forgotten was when people started to forget things about you. If Hannibal had been paying any attention, a light bulb would've gone off in that 20 watt head that she didn't even like dogs, and especially didn't like Billy; so he should've realized that this wasn't anything to be taken lightly, but apparently that didn't matter. She didn't get what was going on but she didn't like it; she'd been along to help them several times before and she'd never been treated like this, and for that matter, how could this bunch of dumb hicks be any worse than anyone else they'd gone up against? Worse than Decker, the MPs, the Cong soldiers? It just wasn't possible, so what was Hannibal making such a big deal about?

A few minutes after Hannibal had left the room, Jean was still fuming as she shoved her clothes into empty dresser drawers, the only thing that got her attention was the sound of somebody knocking on the doorframe. She turned on her heel and saw it was Murdock.

"Hey darling, what's up?" he asked.

She marched over to him and told him, "Hannibal says I've got to stay in my own room tonight. Murdock _what_ is going on here?"

Murdock shrugged, "You got me, hon, I'm as clueless as you are."

"You was born clueless, fool," B.A. said as he walked past them on the way to his own room.

"I don't get it, Murdock," Jean said, "Why is Hannibal suddenly being so cautious?"

"He's got a plan," was all Murdock could say for certain, he shrugged and told her, "I'll see if I can't sneak over after curfew tonight and pay ya a little visit." He leaned his upper body in over the threshold and kissed her. "Oh by the way, I almost forgot."

"What?"

Murdock reached into his back pocket and took out her sunglasses, "You forgot these downstairs."

"I knew I was seeing too well in here," Jean said, hinting towards the windows that already had the shades drawn to keep the heat out, what seemed to be an exercise in futility.

"You gotta be more careful with them, darling, we want the neighbors to think you're truly and legally blind."

Jean put the shades back on and straightened them out and asked him, "What about _il_legally blind?"

* * *

Murdock may have been the crazy one of the bunch but even he couldn't help wincing and letting out small yelps every time his bare feet came in contact with a jagged piece of rock or a brown dead weed in the yard as he took the laundry basket over to the clothesline in back. They hadn't really needed anything washed or dried but he figured this would be as good a way as any to get the people across the way to take notice that somebody else was here. He also figured it would probably help if they heard him singing, but his mind was coming up empty for a proper _southern_ song, so instead he tried adding a southern twang to 'Sympathy for the Devil'.

"Hey you!" he heard somebody call from what sounded like very far away. He turned and saw a man coming over from the other house, just their luck this yard didn't come with a fence to keep the pests out. But looking at this guy, Murdock didn't think that it would've made much difference, if the 50-something year old Billy goat couldn't climb the fence he would surely have been able to break it.

"Yeh-sir?" Murdock asked.

"Watchu doing here?" he asked.

Murdock took the opportunity to miss a beat before responding questioningly, "Hanging laundry?"

"Who are you?" the man asked, getting much closer to him now, and suddenly stopping.

"Uh…"

They heard the backdoor slam shut and Murdock turned to see Hannibal coming out, doing a fine imitation of an old man's limp as he walked.

"Oh Pa!" Murdock called, "Looky, Pa, our neighbor come over to get acquainted."

"So I see," Hannibal grumbled as he made his way over to them, he held his hand out to the other man and said, "Howdy-do sir? Name's Clem Browning."

"What're you doing here?" the man asked, not taking his hand.

"Oh well my kin and I reckoned we'd come up and pay cousin Hector a visit…turns out he had to go into the city and will be gone for a few days so we decided to watch the house for him and make sure it don't go nowhere," Hannibal told him, "And who may I ask is you, sir?"

"Name's Anderson Bakewell," the man told him.

"Hmm, mighty fine name I reckon," Hannibal said, "What is it?"

"It's _mine_," the man said.

"Ah see," Hannibal replied, "Well I see you've gone and met my son Edwynn," he reached over and covered Murdock's ears as he said, "Nice boy, but not the brightest bird in the barnyard if you know what I mean." He removed his hands and used his fingers to smooth back a few strands of Murdock's hair as he added, "_Nice_ boy he is."

"If I was you, _neighbor_," Bakewell said, "I wouldn't get too comfortable here."

"Oh…no?" Hannibal asked.

"Been a lot of problems for your cousin," he said.

"What kind of problems?" Hannibal asked as he took a cigar out of his jacket pocket.

"You stick around long enough, you'll find out," Bakewell warned him.

They heard the back door swing shut again and this time heard Jean calling, "Pa! Pa…" Hannibal turned around and even he about broke character laughing. Jean also was never big on explaining _her_ plans to the rest of them, so nothing could've prepared them for this one.

Jean had her sunglasses on and was slowly feeling her way along to meet with them, but since she was too far away to feel along the garage, she was walking on her hands and feet, feeling along the ground.

Somehow Hannibal was able to maintain a serious smile as he said, "Come over here, darling and say hello to our neighbor." He turned to Bakewell and introduced, "My daughter, Luella, bless her heart, lost her eyesight a month ago, still tryn'a cope."

Jean made her way along on two feet and one hand and held the other one out for Hannibal to take and said, "Just keep talking, Pa, I'll find ya."

Hannibal hoped he didn't look as embarrassed as he felt, here they were supposed to be the same family from the south, and they all spoke with a southern accent, and _none_ of them sounded alike. He took Jean's hand and said, "Right here, darling, stand on up and say hello to the nice man."

Jean stood up and deliberately faced away from Bakewell and held her hand out saying, "Hello nice man."

"The other way, dear," Hannibal said.

Jean turned to the side and repeated, "Hello nice man."

"The _other_ way, dear," Hannibal told her.

Jean turned to the other side, "Hello nice man."

"Be_hind_ you, dear," Hannibal pointed out.

"Well tell him to quit moving around," Jean said as she turned and deliberately held her hand far away from Bakewell and said to the thin air, "Hello nice man and I hope you stop playing tricks on a cripple, you go to hell for that."

Hannibal had expected a fight to break out then and there but to his surprise, Mr. Bakewell left them with another subtle warning about the house, which he pretended to be completely oblivious to.

Murdock waved him off and said, "Y'all come back now, ya hear?" followed by an "Oof!" when Jean elbowed him in the ribs.

"I told you not to do the Beverly Hillbillies," she hissed under her breath.

"Pa! Luella's being mean to me!" Murdock said as he ran behind Hannibal.

"Luella?" Jean repeated.

Hannibal shrugged, "Sounded southern enough to me."

"Hannibal, I'm gonna kill you," Jean told him.

"Would you rather be 'Blanche'?" he asked.

"I'd rather _not_ be in this mess in the first place," she said, "I'm only here as a favor to you, and even that's starting to be less than reason enough."

"Well we did what we initially set out to do, we got the neighbors to notice us," Hannibal said, "Now we just have to wait and see what they do next."

"One question," Jean said as she pulled at the frays on the bottom of her shorts that were shorter than she usually wore, "_Whose_ idea was it to pick out _my_ wardrobe?"

"I don't know what the problem is," Hannibal told her with a feigned innocent shrug, "Daisy Dukes they're not."

"Well that's fine because Daisy Duke _I'm_ not," she replied.

"I'll say," Murdock said as he glanced down the backs of her legs, "No hosiery."

Jean turned to him and without a word and only an odd look on her face, stomped her foot down on his big toe.

"Yeouch!"

"Come on, Edwynn," Hannibal said, resuming his southern drawl, "This is no time for dancing, we've got work to do."


	3. Chapter 3

Jean poked Murdock in the shoulder and gestured for him to be quiet and look into the living room. He did and almost laughed at what he saw; Faceman had gotten settled down in a rocking chair and had about fallen asleep, with both arms tucked into the bib of his overalls.

"You know," she murmured to him, "I think he's more at home like this than he's willing to admit."

"Could be," Murdock quietly replied.

He noticed a slight tremor run through Jean's shoulders and saw her clasp her arms against herself. "What's the matter, you cold?"

"It's 84 degrees in here, who can be cold?" she asked, "Even the food's going to melt soon…"

Murdock followed her gaze up to the high ceiling and looked at the lights hanging up there.

"There's something about this old house, I _don't_ like it," Jean said.

Murdock pointed over to a far window to indicate the neighbors across the way.

"Not just that," she shook her head, "I don't know what…but I just don't like it."

Jean took off her glasses, closed her eyes and pinched the corners of them as her fingers bypassed the bridge of her nose completely.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Just tired," she answered, "I'm going to go up to my room and lay down for a while."

"Okay."

He watched her go to the hall and slowly climb up the stairs, then he turned and realized she'd left one of her books in the living room. He started to call up after her but decided against it, if she was going to sleep she wouldn't need it anyway. So for the meantime he sat down in an old wingback chair and started to read it himself.

* * *

Too damn hot, that's what it was, Jean decided as she reached the top of the stairs. It seemed nearly impossible to get any kind of air flowing through this house, least of all that any difference could be noticed. Why couldn't Hannibal make friends with somebody who had a working air conditioner? She went into the bathroom, stripped down, picked up a pitcher that had been left on the sink's counter, stepped into the bathtub, turned on the cold water, filled up the pitcher and poured it over herself, and repeated a couple of times to cool down. Then she got redressed, headed into her own room and laid down on the already warm bedspread and pillows. Never did Jean ever think that she could possibly miss the cold weather of New York, but she was starting to wonder if it might be worth going back in the fall to get out of this heat.

Hannibal was right about one thing if nothing else; here in this room, in this part of the house, the dark glasses could come off and she could roam freely, no need to remember that she was supposed to be a blind woman here of all places. She couldn't explain it, but she would be _very_ happy when this job was over and they could go home and could leave this house. Of course she hadn't said anything about it to Hannibal because he'd think she was even crazier than she already was, as usual, Murdock was the only one she could confide in; but there were times when she was sure even _he_ thought she was losing her mind.

There _had_ been another reason she'd cut out from the others downstairs, but she wasn't about to tell any of them that. There was no change of weather predicted, no upcoming storm, no Human Barometer act, just a typical migraine that she knew would only go away if she slept through the rest of the afternoon. Not something she was about to admit to the others, not _even_ to Murdock, she'd managed to swallow a couple of pills when nobody was looking but even that wouldn't do much good if she stayed awake. After a while, Jean managed to fall asleep in the hot room with the warm breeze blowing in through the window, and aside from breathing and the occasional turning over in her sleep, she didn't move a muscle for several hours.

Murdock had not known that something was wrong with Jean, nothing any worse than just simple fatigue anyway. After about an hour he went upstairs to check on her when he noticed how eerily quiet the house had become. He tiptoed down to Jean's room at the end of the hall and noticed the door was ajar, he poked his head in to take a look and saw she was out cold; immediately he stepped back quietly to make sure she didn't wake up, but at the same time, he got an idea. He could barely contain his amused grin as the idea hit him, and as quietly as was possible, he tiptoed back down the stairs taking them 2-3 at a time so he could get to work on his plan.

* * *

Jean slept clear through the afternoon and couldn't be awakened even for dinner. Hannibal decided it was best to just let her sleep since he'd seen her go through bouts like this before; so the others left her alone for the night and kept about their own business downstairs. They'd spent the day on the ground floor watching their new neighbors and making sure their neighbors hadn't been watching them too much in return.

When night came, things started to cool down slightly, the breeze coming in through the open windows included. By now, Jean had come out of her dead sleep, and though she was still more asleep than awake, she could hear the wind blowing the shades and the blinds back and forth against the windows. Another thing that she noticed was that her back was sore from sleeping on her stomach all afternoon so she rolled over in her sleep and let out a contented sigh when she felt the mattress press against her back.

Absentmindedly she raised a hand enough to feel over her head, and apparently was pleased that her migraine was gone finally, all the same she was in no rush to get up; without even opening her eyes she knew it was night, and no doubt late at that. If she could get through the remainder of the night without having to see the others or explain what had happened, so much the better.

If she'd fallen back into a deep sleep or not, she didn't know, all she did know was that after a while, she saw, or thought she did, maybe it was only part of a dream, a light, a dim light off somewhere, as if it was just out of her reach. After a while, a familiar scent started to fill her nostrils, melting wax, burnt wick, candles, that's what was making the light, but where were they? She felt herself start to roll over onto her side but she didn't have it in her to complete the move so she flopped onto her back again and was content to just stay in that position until her body was willing to move further.

Another scent soon followed…this one smelled more like roses…was the wind blowing it in from the outside? But Jean couldn't remember if there were roses growing out there or not…and if not, then where…?

A sound got her attention this time, a small breath…there was someone in the room with her. Ordinarily this would be the point where she would shoot up in the bed looking around but for some reason she couldn't bring herself to open her eyes.

She'd heard no footsteps but the next thing she was aware of was a hot breath on her skin as she heard someone talk in a hissing tone, then she realized that it was thick with an accent, possibly German, and then actually sounded like whoever was in the room with her was speaking German. This was definitely one of the weirder dreams she could remember having.

Then a hand reached out from somewhere and touched her, and she about jumped out of her skin. The fingers were spread out wide from each other and she felt the whole thing grip her shoulder firmly, then felt a thumb pressing against her neck, not enough to squeeze the cider out of her Adam's apple, but enough for her to take notice and know that this was no dream, this was really happening.

"Ah," she heard this time clearly in English, "What a lovely throat…" she felt the hot breath on her stronger now as the hiss continued, "Soft…delicate…nice and pale…"

Even without looking Jean could feel a set of teeth drawing closer to her neck, her eyes flew open and she saw the figure standing over her.

* * *

Hannibal had been pacing around the living room checking his watch against Hector's grandfather clock to determine which was closer to the right time when he and Face heard a scream from up on the second floor. They both instinctively looked to the ceiling, and then ran for the stairs.

"Jean?" Hannibal called as they raced up, wondering what had happened, had the people next door managed to get the drop on them?

B.A. had been out on the front porch when they heard the screams and he came tearing in the front door and up the stairs behind them.

The three men came busting into Jean's bedroom at practically the same time and initially there was too much confusion for anybody to know what was going on. Then when everyone calmed down they were able to assess the situation before them. The lights had been thrown on haphazardly, the bedside lamp had been knocked over and the shade had rolled across the floor, the pillows from the bed were strewn over the sides, Jean was on her feet and standing next to Murdock who had shed his cap and jacket somewhere and was wrapped up in what looked like a set of black drapes from one of the windows, and he had his head hunched down as he had a set of blood soaked fingers curled over his nose.

"What happened in here?" Hannibal demanded to know in his typical unfazed tone.

"Professor Van Helsing's got nothing on me," Jean said somewhat proudly as she folded her arms against her chest and nodded towards Murdock, "Didn't even need to break out the holy water or the garlic for this oversized mosquito."

"Oh great," Face groaned, "We're getting into that _weird_ section between them again."

B.A. snorted and replied, "That's every minute of the crazy fool's life."

Hannibal turned his attention to the Captain with the bloody nose and asked, "_Well_, Murdock?"

As best as he could Murdock tried to look coy about the whole thing and said sheepishly, "Aw gee, Colonel, I was just trying for a little love bite," and clicked his teeth together a couple times as if to emphasize his point.

Hannibal shook his head but it was obvious for everyone to see the smirk on his face as he struggled not to laugh. He managed to win that battle as he, in the best commanding voice he could muster, said, "Murdock?"

"Yes Colonel?"

"Didn't I tell you to stay in your _own_ room tonight?" Hannibal asked.

"Yes, Colonel," Murdock replied, a little wind let out of his sail.

"And _did_ you do that?" Hannibal asked.

Murdock looked down and replied, "No, Colonel."

Hannibal shook his head again and asked, "_What_ are we going to do with you, Murdock?"

"How about sending him back to the booboo hatch one way?" B.A. suggested.

"Come on, Murdock," Hannibal said as he went over to the pilot, "Let me take a look."

Hannibal blocked the others' view so they couldn't see what was happening but the sounds the two men made as Hannibal examined Murdock's nose were nothing short of humorous. Jean elbowed Face and murmured to him, "Sounds like the time my dad tried to fix the vacuum cleaner."

That statement took him by surprise and he couldn't resist getting a small snicker out at Murdock's expense.

"You got lucky, Murdock, nothing's broken," Hannibal told him.

"I know," was his nasal response.

"Come on," Hannibal put a hand on his arm and guided him to the door, "Let's get you cleaned up."

"D'okay," Murdock replied as he resumed pinching the bridge of his nose.

Once they had left the room, Jean fell back in a chair and brought her hands up to her face as she started to laugh uncontrollably.

"Are you alright, Jean?" Face asked, still trying to make some sense out of this whole mess, if that was at all possible.

Jean leaned back in the chair and cackled like a chicken, it took her a few tries to be able to speak coherently.

"Yeah," she was finally able to reply, "I'm fine," before she burst into a fit of laughter again.

Face looked to B.A. who stood by the door and just shook his head, and he told Face, "We gotta get outta here soon, Face, can't take being enclosed with all that fool's crazy, it's gonna get contagious in here."

Face chuckled to himself as he followed B.A. out the door, leaving Jean alone. She got up and set the lamp and the pillows back into place, and went over to the dresser and blew out the candles that Murdock had lit earlier, and it was there that she found a single, long stem rose set out beside the candles. She lifted it up by a place where there weren't any thorns and looked at it; it didn't look like any that grew on the bushes outside, the shape was too bulbous like a professional florist's, wild roses grew out here in a flatter widespread shape like a saucer. She didn't know where it came from, but it did give her an idea.

* * *

Hannibal had helped Murdock get cleaned up and change out of his shirt that was covered in blood, that was going straight to the laundry room, and into his pajamas, and also unwrapped him from the drapes he'd stolen from the dining room, and then, though Murdock insisted he could do it himself, Hannibal took the liberty of tucking Murdock in bed, emphasizing, "Nice and _tight_ so you stay in your _own_ bed tonight."

"Yes, Hannibal," Murdock murmured.

Hannibal smiled down at him, he pressed a hand on the pilot's head and leaned over to kiss him on the forehead, "Goodnight, Murdock."

"Goodnight, Hannibal," Murdock replied as he turned on his side.

Hannibal left the room and shut off the light, and closed the door behind him, Murdock pulled the covers up to his nose and fell asleep twisted on his side, his breathing muffled and heavy against the plaid blanket.

Murdock felt himself linger somewhere between total unconsciousness and semi-consciousness, he didn't know if he'd actually fallen asleep but he became aware of something touching him. He felt a hand stroking over his head and through his hair, over, and over, and over, when it hit him that he wasn't dreaming he opened his eyes and started to sit up, asking, "Who, what…wha…"

His answer was somebody pushing him back down and a whispered, "Shhhh…"

He opened his eyes wider and let them adapt to the darkness, and he saw Jean hovering over him with a sly smile on her face.

"What're you doing here?" he whispered.

"I've come for you, Count _Duncula_," Jean said as she poked him in the chest.

"Oof…if Hannibal catches you in here…"

"He won't come in here," Jean told him, "Not if you be _quiet_." He realized she was on her knees and leaning back on her heels on the bed, she looked down at him and said, "You really had it all planned out, didn't you?"

Murdock shrugged tiredly, "Can you blame me for trying?"

"Maybe not, but you forgot something," Jean told him and pulled out the rose and laid it down against his chest, "You remember the significance of this?"

Murdock threw his head back against the pillows and weakly thrashed back and forth, hissing, "I'm paralyzed, I cannot rise up from my coffin, hhhhsssss!'

"Just the way I want you," Jean said with a smirk, and slowly lowered herself against him, rolling the rose up towards his neck.

Murdock continued to weakly thrash and hiss as slowly he felt her full weight come down against him, and then she kissed him.

* * *

Hannibal opened the glass door to the face of the grandfather clock, pushed the minute hand ahead five minutes and made it midnight on the clock to match his watch, and closed it again. The clock struck the hour and he heard somebody coming down the stairs, it was Jean. She entered the living room and met his eyes, offered no explanation for what had happened that day, said only, "Sorry…"

Apparently he understood _what_ she was apologizing for and said in response, "It's alright, kid."

"Where're the others?" Jean asked as she looked around and realized they were alone.

"B.A.'s out patrolling the grounds, Face is in bed," Hannibal told her.

"So," Jean said as she made her way over to a chair and sat down, "What do you make of the neighbors?"

"The Bakewells?" Hannibal shook his head, "I don't anticipate them being much of a problem, an annoyance if nothing else."

"They must've been more than just an annoyance to drive your friend away from here," Jean said as she propped her feet up on the coffee table and picked up a book to read.

"Hector's sharp as a brass tack, but one old man can only do so much against a whole houseful of drunks," Hannibal explained.

Jean cocked her head to the side against her shoulder and closed her eyes momentarily, but she opened them again and turned to Hannibal and said, "You thought…when you heard Murdock scream you all came running up, you thought they'd gotten into my room?"

"What I _know_, Jean, is that you are prone to having a lot of bad things happen to you," Hannibal said, "We heard someone screaming…"

"And you thought it was me," she said.

He didn't answer, said only, "Whoever was screaming, we had to know what happened."

"And now Face thinks we have an even weirder sex life than we already do," Jean said.

"I wasn't aware you had _any_," Hannibal commented.

"We _don't_," Jean told him, "That makes it even worse."

Hannibal chuckled and Jean just tilted her head down, closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head.

"This family knows too much about each other's private lives," she told him.

"Or maybe not enough," Hannibal remarked.

Jean gawked at him and said bluntly, "You're a sick man, Hannibal, you know that, don't you?"

"So I've been told more than once," he said.

* * *

The next morning, Hannibal found himself the last one into the kitchen and saw Jean was the last one still seated at the table. She already had her dark glasses on again but turned to see him as she said, "Rather boring last night, wasn't it?"

Hannibal sounded sure of himself as he went over to the fridge, "They think they're lulling us into a false sense of security, because nothing happened last night they think we think that nothing's going to happen tonight." He turned around and noticed Jean's plate was still full and asked, "What's the matter, aren't you hungry?"

Jean tilted the plate up so he could see it was full of scrambled eggs and she told him, "I _hate_ eggs."

"What's wrong with them?" Hannibal asked as he went over to the table.

"Too many whites," Jean said, "If I taste an egg white, I'll throw up."

"Hmmm," Hannibal looked at the eggs that were evenly speckled yellow and white, and asked, "Who cooked these?"

"Face," she answered.

Hannibal chuckled under his breath and said, "That ought to get him a slap as sure as anything…I'll make us both some new ones."

"I told you, I _hate_ eggs," Jean said.

"Bah," Hannibal replied, "You don't know what's good, the trick is to whip them and get them cooking before the yolks and whites can separate."

"And where did _you_ learn how to cook? By your own admission your mother didn't know how," Jean said.

"Believe it or not you manage when you're living on your own and it becomes necessary," Hannibal told her. As he turned on the burner and poured some bacon grease into the frying pan, he asked her, "How'd you sleep last night?"

"Alright I suppose," she answered, "But I kept having a weird dream…you know that guy Renfield in Dracula?"

"Only too well," Hannibal replied.

"I swear I could hear him laughing all night," Jean shook her head.

"Hmm, maybe the movie was playing last night."

"Hannibal," Jean reminded him, "There's no TV upstairs…come to think of it, I'm not sure there's a TV in this whole house."

"Ah…well…" that certainly complicated things a bit.

"No TV, no neighbors, no connection to the outside world," Jean commented, "This must be what it's like to grow up in Montana." The slight smile dropped from her blank face as she deadpanned, "I'd shoot myself."

Hannibal just chuckled to himself as he cooked. Once the eggs were halfway cooked, he chopped them into pieces with a spatula, then turned them a few more times before dishing them up on two plates.

"Alright, try this," he said as he handed one to her.

Jean covered them with salt before taking a bite, and she looked surprised.

"I told you they were good," Hannibal told her.

"Okay, so you can cook," Jean said sarcastically, "But do you do windows?"

Hannibal chuckled but otherwise evaded the question. He took out a new cigar, bit off the tip and lit it, and as he did he looked across the table at her and observed in a somewhat condescending tone, "You look lousy, doll."

And she felt like it. She knew she didn't have any bags under her eyes but she felt like she did, and felt like the whole world could see them. She pressed her hand against one eye and stretched the lid out and commented, "Just slept hard," before letting her eyelid snap back into place.

"Hmm," Hannibal held his cigar in one hand and with the other reached over and felt her forehead, apparently that didn't satisfy him so he stood up from his chair, leaned over and kissed her on her forehead and commented, "Little warm but I don't think it's a fever."

Jean pushed her chair back and looked at him like he was nuts, "You make a habit of kissing people when they're sick?"

"Just the pretty ones," he joked.

"Oh boy Face must take his vitamins round the clock," Jean murmured, "I suppose I go back to playing the helpless blind woman again today?"

"Yes," Hannibal answered without missing a beat.

Jean took her glasses off and looked at them and said with a huff, "Oh well, could be worse I suppose, could be I wouldn't even have to _act_ for it." She gave the glasses another onceover and said under her breath, "World champion blind lady at your service."

They both heard a sudden and unidentifiable noise that made them jump in their chairs, then they realized as the door swung open and the other three came in, that the noise was B.A. experiencing a bad case of hiccups.

"Geez you know how to scare a guy," Jean said, "Sounds like something exploding."

"Hey it ain't any better from this—HIC!" B.A. grabbed at his throat as another spasm hit.

Face shook his head, "Hannibal, he's been like this for 10 minutes, I don't know what we're going to do."

"What about drinking some water?" Hannibal suggested.

"Already tried that," Murdock said, "The big guy about drank the pump dry out back."

Hannibal tried again, "What about holding his breath?"

"Hannibal, have you ever seen a blue mudsucker?" Murdock asked.

"HIC! Well somebody better figure out something because I-HIC!" B.A.'s gold jangled as his whole chest shot up, rattling all his jewelry.

"Maybe we could try scaring him," Face suggested.

"Take him to the airport?" Murdock suggested.

"Hey Murdock, you try that and I'm gonna HIC!"

"I think we better try something we can do here instead," Face told Murdock.

Murdock scratched his head and thought for a minute, then snapped his fingers, "I've got it…I'm gonna try something I saw on MTV." He started to walk past B.A. and then without warning, fell to the floor screaming and writhing and started rolling around from side to side, exclaiming, "My brains exploded! My brains exploded!"

"HIC!"

Murdock got to his feet with a disappointed pout on his face and told Face, "It didn't work!"

"It didn't work on 'The Young Ones' either," Jean reminded him. She went over to Murdock and murmured into his ear, "I've got an idea, _I'm_ going to try something."

"Well what is it?" Murdock asked.

"Can't tell you," she replied, "_I_ have to do it because he's _not_ going to kill _me_."

"Oh."

Jean went over to the knife rack over the stove, grabbed one of the barbecue forks with a set of particularly large prongs, came up behind B.A. and jabbed the fork into the back of his overalls. The next sound to come out of B.A.'s mouth was a scream none of them had heard since Murdock had to bite his hands.

"Murdock! What did you do you crazy fool!?" B.A. asked as he started chasing Murdock around the table, "I'll get you, Murdock!"

"I didn't do anything!" Murdock tried to tell him, and wound up diving behind the Colonel for protection, "Hannibal, help!"

"Outta my way, Hannibal," B.A. told him.

Hannibal stood his ground and remained calm as he explained, "Now just hold it, B.A., for one thing Murdock didn't do anything to you, _that_ was Jean…and second of all…" he shrugged and pointed out, "Your hiccups are gone."

"Huh?" B.A. asked, and then realized what Hannibal meant, "Hey, you're right."

Murdock felt his legs and his spine turn to jelly and he slid to the floor behind Hannibal and collapsed in a nervous heap.

* * *

They spent the afternoon out on the front porch rocking back and forth, Murdock, back in his country bumpkin persona, hawed to himself mostly as he rocked back and forth while snapping a large bowl full of green beans for supper. Jean sat beside him in a rocker that was barely moving and even with her glasses on, they could tell she was staring straight ahead at something, or nothing. Face occupied the porch swing as he assumed the role of storyteller today as was decided by Murdock, and read through some passages of The Vampire.

"Jean," Murdock said through the corner of his mouth, "What's the matter with you?" He held his bowl out to show her and said, "I nearly got my whole bowl snapped and you ain't touched a single bean yet."

"That's fine with me," Jean said as she rocked back, "I _hate_ green beans, always have. If I never have to look at another one in my life it'll be too soon." She looked out to the property next door and added, "Seems awful quiet today…where do you reckon everybody is?"

"Oh," Face looked up from the book, "Probably out biting heads off of chickens or picking up some road kill for dinner or whatever's the latest in Hillbilly Weekly."

Jean laid her head against her shoulder and closed her eyes behind her black shades, "Why's it always so hot here? Why don't some rain come in and cool everything off?"

Within a few minutes her head had rolled back against the back of the chair and she was dead to the world, now it was just the two of them. Face looked around at the vast nothingness around them, just ground and bushes and trees and sky, he didn't like it.

"Hey Murdock," he said lowly, and when the pilot turned to look at him he asked, "Is it possible to feel claustrophobic in wide open spaces?"

"Something on your mind, Faceman?" Murdock asked as he continued to snap beans.

"I don't know," Face was careful not to move his mouth too much as he said, "Just feels like for all we see, there's something out there watching us, and it can see us but we can't see it."

Murdock resumed his bizarre accent from the other day and repeated, "Enough shrubbery out there to hide a dozen assassins."

Face lightly nodded and remarked, "I'm starting to think you may not be wrong."

From behind the pitch black lenses of her glasses, Jean opened one eye halfway and gazed out at the property and had a look around for herself. But for all anyone and everyone else was concerned, she was dead to the world and completely unaware of anything that was going on, least of all this discussion that was taking place between the Lieutenant and the Captain. If Hannibal was right, and whatever was going to happen was to take place tonight, they were going to be ready for it. She listened to Murdock and Face talk among themselves for a while longer, than closed her eye and repositioned her head and really fell asleep, waited for her damn headache to pass.

* * *

95 degrees in the shade, 100 in the sun, 103 with the heat index, humidity a bare minimum of 80%. Jean felt sick, her stomach was turning like a rollercoaster, half of her was covered in sweat clear down to every pore in her scalp, the rest of her body was jabbed with a prickly heat. She never should've fallen asleep outside in the heat, she couldn't wait to get out of here and go home. She let the front screen door slam behind her and stopped in her tracks and covered her mouth as she felt her stomach do a particularly large flip. And leave it to that crazy ex-husband of hers that he could sit out there in the sun all afternoon and he was hardly even breaking a sweat, crazy _indeed_.

"Ha…" Jean waited for the acid to back out of her throat and make its way back to her stomach and tried again, "Hannibal?" No answer. The entire house was quiet as a tomb. She looked around and called again, "Hannibal?"

She knew that he hadn't gone anywhere, the car was parked in the driveway and she knew the van was still in the garage. Jean pulled off her glasses and went into the dining room; her eyes had adjusted too much to the darkness and she could hardly see inside, she reached along the wall and flipped the light switch on. Nothing. Jean looked up and saw the lights in the old ceiling fan; something up there was making a nerve wracking buzzing sound as the bulbs slowly came to life. They lit up, then grew dimmer, then lit up again, and about went out…and came on…and then went out.

Jean had heard about the electrical problems in the house but this just didn't gel with her. She looked up at those light bulbs as if she was expecting something else to occur, and when nothing did, she slowly picked up one foot and put it behind her, and took one step backwards, and another, and backed clear out of the dining room and into the kitchen, never taking her eyes off the bulbs.

On her last step she backed into somebody, the unmistakable feel of somebody's chest against her back, that unmistakable sound of two bodies bumping into each other, she let out a yelp and spun on her heel and saw it was only Face.

"Well," he said, "I guess even you can succumb to heat exhaustion, where's Murdock?"

"_Still_ out there," Jean told him.

"_Not_ still snapping green beans?" Face asked.

"No," Jean said as she stomped past him, "Now he's out crawling around in the grass looking for worms."

"Worms?" Face asked, "Even _I_ know night crawlers don't come out in the daytime, _especially_ when it doesn't rain."

Jean glanced out the window and absentmindedly remarked, "Get one good rain around here and Billy's gonna go nuts hearing them crawl around all night, even people can only take so much of that racket but dogs are the worst." She turned back to him and asked, "What's going on, Face? Where's Hannibal? Where's B.A.? Where the hell _is_ everybody?"

"Well you got me," he told her, "Hannibal said he and B.A. were going to explore the back property and see if anybody's been out here recently, and they haven't been back yet. Before they left, he told me to stay here with you two."

"Well that's just _great_," Jean groaned. She went to the back door.

"Where're you going?" Face asked.

"You stay here with Murdock," she told him, "I'm going to go look for that nut you call a Colonel, I need to talk to him. And if _I_ don't come back within an hour, _then_ you two come looking."

"Aren't you forgetting something, Jean?" Face asked.

She turned to him and looked at him questioningly; without a word, Face pointed towards his eyes and Jean realized she'd forgotten her glasses. She went past him to the dining room and picked them up off the table.

"Aren't you forgetting something else?" Face asked her.

"I'm sure Billy's qualified as a seeing-eye dog," Jean said, "I'll be fine."

"Jean," Face pointed out, "An invisible dog can't be a seeing-eye dog." Then he realized what he was saying and he smacked himself.

"Are you kidding?" she turned back towards him, "What better candidate than a dog nobody else can see if I can't see either?" and with that, she was out the back door.

Face thought about it for a minute and conceded, "Well…she has a point…" he looked to the door and added, "I _think_."


	4. Chapter 4

As sick from the heat as Jean already was and without any chance to cool down she'd gone out to the back and found herself treading through the 100+ degree heat again looking for the A-Team's lead crazy man and their angry mudsucking Sergeant, _and_ making the search with a dog she couldn't stand being around, she was sure of it: the sun must've curdled her brain into cottage cheese.

Every few steps she called out "Paaaaaa!" keeping in character, under her breath she grumbled the entire time, "Hannibal, when I get my hands on you…" With every other step she took she looked down at the ground to make sure she didn't step on anything that would puncture her feet. That's what she did, that's what she always did, when she, Face and Murdock went somewhere, Face looked ahead, Murdock alternated between the sides and the sky, and she watched the ground to make sure they didn't literally walk into anything they'd regret.

The truth was she was grateful for this blind act because with these glasses she could look at people without having to make eye contact with them, at least without them knowing. She didn't like making eye contact with people, not anymore than she had to anyway, sure, the eyes were the window to a person's inside, but windows were two ways, you looked out, and someone else could look in, and there were damn few people who she'd allow that. In any case, when she went somewhere with the Team, it made sense to her that everybody else would be making contact with whoever they met, so she could afford to look elsewhere, and being the shortest person there she took advantage of being able to see things lower down than they ordinarily did; seemed to her most of the time that's where the important details were anyway.

By now she was probably 100 feet from the house at least, and no sign of Hannibal or B.A. yet. Since she didn't think the neighbors could've gotten them that easily, and there was no sign of a struggle anywhere she'd come yet, it just seemed like the earth had opened up and swallowed them whole. She stopped and looked at the ground under her feet. Hmmmm…maybe that's what happened when it got this dry and no rain came.

As Jean resumed walking, she heard Billy barking off somewhere and she turned to see what it was he wanted, but instead she felt the ground fall away beneath her foot and her whole equilibrium was destroyed as she felt herself falling forward, and straight down into a large hole in the ground.

She hit the ground hard and groaned as she tried to pull herself out of the crash position.

"Billy," she grumbled as she slowly got back to her feet, "As soon as I get out of this hole, I'm going to shoot you."

Initially she couldn't tell what on her hurt, the pain seemed to be hit and miss all throughout her body. She tried standing up so she could see how deep the hole was and if she could climb out of it, but her foot didn't want to cooperate and she went down again like a ton of bricks. Now her head _really_ hurt, and she was dizzy, even laying on the ground she felt like she was going to fall, again, so she decided to just lay still and close her eyes for a few minutes as she waited for the feeling to pass. Out in the heat and in her compromised condition, it didn't take long for her to succumb to the heat and fall headlong into a dream. Somewhere she could hear explosions, not like when the A-Team blew stuff up but like in old war movies, _old_ war movies, World War I perhaps. She opened her eyes and sat up just in time before somebody else fell down the hole screaming, and when that person landed she saw it was Murdock.

"What kept you?" she asked casually as she pulled her legs in and rocked onto her back.

"I had a little trip," Murdock answered.

"Hmmm."

They heard somebody else screaming and a second later Face also fell to the bottom and joined them.

"Ten thousand shell holes in the world and everybody's got to come down mine, is that it?" Jean asked cynically as she got to her feet.

"So what does that make you?" Face asked as he rubbed his ankle, "James Cagney?"

"No, it makes me Humphrey Bogart," Jean told him, "And I'd _rather_ be Cagney because he _killed_ Bogey."

"And then got killed himself," Face reminded her.

"Eh," Jean shrugged her shoulders, "Those are the breaks, they can't all be winners, of course that's to be expected in this business. And if I must die I'd rather die on the side of right, _if_ that's even possible anymore."

After that everything went blurry, and then fuzzy, and then blank.

* * *

"Alright, so I was wrong," Hannibal said as he and B.A. made their way back to the house, "What else do you want to hear?"

B.A. grunted and parroted Hannibal's earlier comments, "Just see how far this barbwire fencing goes by the brook…then just see how far this back road goes…_then_ just see how far out to that red light goes."

"Well how was I supposed to know the red light was a bus heading to Boston?" Hannibal asked innocently.

"The fact that we couldn't catch up with it should've been a hint. Hannibal, you better start running," B.A. said as he stomped closer towards the Colonel.

Hannibal chuckled as he jogged on ahead of his cranky Sergeant, then stopped when he saw the large hole in the ground up ahead.

"Hey, this wasn't here when we left," he said.

B.A. stopped and also noticed the hole and commented as he put his hands on his sides, "Them sinkholes form quicker and quicker these days."

Hannibal inched along closer to the hole to examine it, and he got close enough he was able to see something down in it…

"Jean!"

But Jean didn't respond, she was half sprawled out and half curled on her side and unresponsive to their presence.

"B.A., get close to the edge," Hannibal said as he sat down by the hole and started to inch his way into the opening, "I'm going down to get her."

"Be careful, Hannibal," B.A. told him, "You' getting too old to play cave dweller."

"Ha-ha," Hannibal replied as he quit pressing against the side of the hole and let gravity take its course and he dropped down beside Jean.

He went over to Jean and turned her onto her back and saw that she was breathing, and also now could hear a guttural whimpering sound making its way past her closed lips. He briefly examined her for any broken bones but didn't find any. Jean's bottom jaw dropped and she started breathing heavily and it sounded like a near hysterical dry sob.

"What's the matter with her, Hannibal?" B.A. asked.

"I don't know," Hannibal said as he put his hands under her and lifted her up, then he did a double take and added, "Ohh."

"What is it?" B.A. asked, unable to see much of anything clearly in the dark hole.

"Looks like she got her foot cut up pretty good," Hannibal answered, and hollered up, "I'm gonna lift her up and you take her."

Easier said than done, on his first try he about dropped her and groaned, "Oomph." He looked down at Jean and told her, "You're getting heavy, kid," and tried again, this time managing to keep her suspended off the ground long enough for B.A. to grab her and pull her up. He grabbed her and lifted her up in his arms and saw that her right foot was covered in blood.

"What'd you get into, mama?" he asked her, knowing he wouldn't get an answer.

Hannibal had started to climb out of the hole himself and just about made it when the dirt underneath his fingers broke loose and he started to fall back in, he let out a surprised yelp as he felt his whole body slip, and then felt his body dangle against the side of the hole, and a pulverizing grip on his hand. He looked up and saw that B.A. had grabbed him and was pulling him up out of the hole.

"I told you you was getting too old to go spelunking," B.A. told him.

Hannibal looked to Jean, who B.A. had laid down on the ground to go help him; by now she was curled on her side again and had both arms wrapped tightly against her stomach, and had her mouth clenched shut but couldn't stop moaning.

"Never mind, come on," Hannibal said as they went over to Jean and got on either side of her and lifted her up off of her bad foot, "We better get her back to the house, heat cramps already set in, heat stroke might not be far off, _then_ we gotta see how bad her foot is."

* * *

It was early in the evening and things were starting to cool down slightly. Inside things had cooled down considerably once B.A. was able to take a look at the antique air conditioner that had been buried behind a bunch of weeds that came up waist high on all of them, and get it running again; it only worked to cool half of the house but it was a large improvement over earlier that day. The sun was starting to disappear behind a large row of clouds and emotions were starting to decline along with the temperature. Up in Jean's bedroom she lay on her bed with a cold rag over her eyes, her skin had largely burnt bright pink but she'd since been subjected to a cold washing and was changed into a fresh T-shirt and pair of jean shorts. Her foot was bandaged where she'd cut it on a rock, it had been cleaned out and disinfected and Hannibal had warned her, would be sore to put any weight on for the next few days.

The cooling temperature hadn't done anything to help her mood however, she was miserable and after she'd been allowed to relax in her own room, Murdock had been the only one to gain entrance to see her, and even he felt himself walking on some sharp eggshells with this one.

Jean groaned and pressed her hands against the wet cloth over her eyes and told Murdock, "I don't even want to know what I did…I'm so embarrassed."

Murdock had been teetering between knowing when to talk and when to just listen, he had a hard time keeping his mouth shut but it just seemed like Jean needed to get out what she had to say before he tried to be reassuring. Instead he just barely sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her head. But that one had been the last straw, he had to say something.

"Darling, you ain't done anything you need to be embarrassed about," he said, his southern drawl was there, but his voice was lower, deeper, the more serious Murdock shining through now.

Jean groaned and turned to her side, grumbling, "Broke-down-crying-like-a-baby."

"Jean, by the time you got back here, Hannibal said you were bordering on heat stroke, you were delirious," Murdock explained to her.

"Oh yeah and wasn't that fun?" she asked bitterly as she peeled the rag off, "First I'm getting a case of freezer burn in the groin and armpits…"

Though Murdock knew it wasn't funny, he had trouble maintaining a straight face as he told her, "He told you why he did that, Maggie told him all the core places festering with blood vessels that need to be cooled down to reduce body temperature…"

"And then I'm being dumped into a bathtub full of ice water and I've got these grubby hands pawing over me as he's trying to get my clothes off."

Murdock had an even harder time keeping a straight face at that one, though for different reasons. He hadn't been present for that one, only came in after the fact, and _he_ felt embarrassed for her for that one, even though he understood why it had to be done. She had been unresponsive to most of what was going on at the time and they weren't even sure yet that brain damage hadn't set in from the heat, there was no way Hannibal was going to believe she was capable in that instant of getting herself out of her sopping wet clothes. And he knew that she _knew_ why it had to be done, but he also knew that she was still dealing with what had happened earlier and needed to get it out of her system before she'd start to feel better.

"And what the hell does it say about me if I can't stand a little heat without getting sick like a dog?" she asked.

"Jean, you were out in 105 degree weather for hours," he told her.

"So were you, you hardly even broke a sweat," Jean replied.

"Not the whole time, I came in where it's dark and it's cooler, I didn't go off looking for Hannibal and B.A. when they were two miles down the back road," Murdock said.

"And what about them? They didn't get sick," Jean told him.

Murdock shook his head helplessly as he stood up and said to her, "Jean, do you have any idea how many people drop dead from heat stroke every year, many of them because they didn't know they had it because they weren't aware of how much they'd exposed themselves to the summer heat? You're playing with your life here."

"And you guys don't?" she asked as she got up and sat on her knees on the bed, "What about all those times you're off in Borneo or South America or wherever…where the days are 110 in the shade minimum and the nights never drop below 90?"

"We take a lot of precautions when and where available to make sure we don't succumb to the heat," he explained.

"You who goes parading around in a heavy leather jacket and black T-shirts when everybody else is marinating in their own sweat and you want to talk precautions?" Jean asked.

Murdock shrugged cluelessly and said in a half-joking tone, "I'm a cold blooded person. You," he pointed at her, "On the other hand are a notoriously very _hot_ blooded person, we all know that."

Jean nodded slowly in defeat and replied, "Yes I am, if I had to dress like you for extended periods of time, I'd be dead, I know it…and I can't do anything about it. Just another thing to chalk up to my being different from everyone else in the whole entire planet. And I'll tell you something, Murdock, I get so _sick_ of _everything_ always happening to _me_. _Why_ is it always me? Oh, I know I shouldn't complain, I should be grateful that it's nothing more serious like cancer or heart disease or paral…" she swallowed the word, "All the same I think I've got more than my fair share of problems, and I'm tired of it, and I doubt I'm the only one."

Murdock swallowed, "You mean us."

Jean nodded.

Murdock groaned as he buried his face in his hands for a moment, he went over to Jean and hugged her tight for a moment and said, grumbling, "Jean, you know I love you, but I gotta ask…what the _hell_ did your parents do to you?"

She pulled back from him, "_What_?"

"I mean where did this come from? You always think that you have to prove something, that you have to be good enough…it had to come from somewhere, it doesn't _just_ happen," Murdock told her.

"They didn't do anything to me," Jean shook her head, "And it doesn't do any good to ask anyway…everything I _was_, was _before_ I went to join the Army, and everything I was _then_, I've also tried to put behind me, so all that's left is what I _am_ now."

For some reason at that moment, Murdock felt a compulsory need to place his hands on the sides of her face and tell her, "I love you, Jean."

They heard footsteps down the hall and knew that they wouldn't have a chance to say anything more before they were interrupted so they left it at that, he let go of her and went over to the dresser by the wall.

Hannibal opened the door and came in carrying a glass and said, "Alright, Jean, time for your water again."

"Ugh," Jean groaned as she tried to move away from him, "No more salt water, Hannibal."

"I'm sorry," he said mockingly, "But Maggie said you need to drink one glass of this every hour until the cramps are gone, need to restore the salt intake you lost being out in the sun."

"Hannibal, if I drink much more of this stuff, I'm going to throw up," she said.

"Then you'll just have to start all over again," he said in his subtle but 'tormenting mean little boy' tone.

Murdock went over to Jean, put a hand on her shoulder and asked her, "You mind if I talk to the Colonel alone for a minute?"

Jean looked at the glass in her hand as she answered, "Go ahead, I need to figure out how I'm going to choke _this_ one down."

The two men stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind them.

"How's she doing?" Hannibal whispered to Murdock.

"That depends on how you want to define it," Murdock told him, "Physically she's coming along alright but…"

"But what?" Hannibal asked.

"Well…she's a little embarrassed about her, little outburst earlier," Murdock explained.

"She remembers?" Hannibal was surprised.

Hannibal had left Murdock in the dark about the little fact that Jean had been crying before they even got her to the house. He'd unfortunately had enough experience over the years to know the difference in hysteria triggered by pain, and by…other circumstances. He knew that Jean hadn't been crying because she was injured in the fall or because she'd cut her heel open; at first he thought it was delirium from the heat, but after the fact he thought back to the large hole in the yard, and it took him back to a discussion he'd had with Jean a while back. A dream she'd had about she and a bunch of soldiers being shot at and falling into a mass grave. And that hole out in the yard, it was a large square hole, intentionally dug so by someone. That memory coupled with the heat, it was understandable why she was in hysterics, if it'd been him in that position he honestly couldn't say if he would've fared much better.

They went back in the bedroom and Jean was sitting on the bed with her head in her hands groaning, she looked up at Hannibal and said, "My head hurts, can I go to sleep now?"

He picked up the glass on the nightstand and saw it was empty. "Do anything you have a mind to, and being a woman you _will_." He smiled at her, "Are you feeling hungry yet, kid?" and reached a hand over to touch her face and see if it was still warm.

Jean groaned as she lay down, "No, no food, no more salt water…just let me sleep…"

"You want Murdock to stay with you?" Hannibal asked her.

"I don't care," Jean said as she pulled a pillow over her head. A minute later, she pulled her head out from under it and looked to the Colonel heading for the door and said suddenly, "Hannibal…" he turned back to look at her and she said shook her head and grumbled, "I'm sorry about earlier."

He turned towards her and said in response, "It's alright kid, I'm just sorry about the rough treatment we had to put you through earlier, but we wouldn't have done it if it wasn't necessary."

Jean nodded, "I know…"

Hannibal left, Murdock stayed and went back to her bedside, he started to stroke through her hair but she groaned and put a hand up, telling him, "Don't do that, don't touch it…"

"Sorry," he said as he patted her shoulder instead.

A jerking groan escaped Jean as her hand automatically reached to her stomach again, and Murdock set to work once again massaging the cramped area.

Jean sighed and told him, "25 years old and already I'm falling apart…I wonder if…"

"What? You wonder if what?" he asked.

She looked at him and said, "If maybe it'd be better if I just went home and let you guys deal with those nuts next door."

Murdock didn't say anything at first, then he responded, "If that's what you want to do, we won't keep you here."

"Who said anything about what I _want_?" Jean asked, "I just think it might be better. We've only been here two days and both times something bad happens because I'm here."

Jean turned over on her stomach, Murdock patted her back and said quietly, "Just sleep on it for now, darling, we'll talk later."

Jean groaned and raised a hand to her head, a minute later she was dead to the world again.

* * *

"Hector, will you stop laughing?" Hannibal asked as he found himself at the limit of how far the phone cord could stretch into the living room, "Did you know anything about this hole or not?"

Hector, who had been making himself at home in Hannibal's home for the last two days, leaned back in his chair and said, "I'm sorry, Johnny, I guess that one slipped my mind."

"Then you did know about it."

"Know it?" Hector hiccupped, "I _dug_ it."

"Hector," Hannibal replied, "That hole is nearly 7 feet deep."

"I didn't say I dug the _whole_ thing," Hector told him, "I found the hole a while back when I first moved in, it's not like the ones my neighbors have been filling the yard with, so I decided to have a little trap ready for them incase they'd stumble over that area…apparently it worked very well, it just caught the wrong person, I'm sorry, Johnny, I hope your friend wasn't hurt too badly."

"She'll be alright," Hannibal answered, "But Hector, this is one of the weirdest holes I've ever seen."

"Who're you telling?" Hector replied, "I think once upon a time it must've led to a storm cellar or something, can't figure out why else there'd be a _square_ hole in the ground."

"Big one at that," Hannibal added.

"Can't figure it out, though," Hector said, "That old house has to have been there at least as long as I've been alive."

"Hector," Hannibal said, "Is there any chance that something could've been buried there previously?"

"Something…or some_body_?" the old man replied.

Hannibal shrugged, "Either I suppose."

"Hmmm…suppose it's possible, but as I said, the hole wasn't that deep originally, when I found it it was only about four and a half feet down…now that's just a little shallow to comfortably put a body, _even_ out in the middle of nowhere. But Johnny, if anything _had_ been in that hole to begin with, and there's nothing there now, _why_ have those hicks next door been bugging me?"

Hannibal scratched the back of his head, "It's a good question…oh well, I guess we'll find out soon. I'll talk to you later, Hector."

"Goodbye, Johnny," Hector hung up the phone and sat back on Hannibal's bed and resumed his visit with old friends. He picked up a framed photograph of Hannibal's mother and said to it, "He's a good boy, Annabel…ya done well with that one."

* * *

Hannibal tapped on the door before entering with a tray containing two plates of food on it. Jean was passed out on the bed and Murdock was watching her from where he sat next to it.

"Kept your dinner warm, Captain," he whispered.

"Thanks, Colonel," Murdock replied quietly.

Hannibal set the tray down and asked, "How's she doing?"

"Just slept this whole time," Murdock said.

"Anymore cramps?" he asked.

Murdock shook his head, "No."

"Good."

Hannibal went over to the bed and reached down and patted Jean's head, she moaned softly and turned her head to the side, then woke up.

"What's going on?" she tiredly asked.

"We got that hole filled in so you won't have to worry about stepping in it again," he told her.

"Oh good," Jean turned back over and murmured into the pillows, "Now I just have to have a word with Billy…"

She felt a hand on her shoulder turning her to the front again and she asked, "What?"

"Do you feel like coming downstairs?" he asked.

Jean turned her head and saw Murdock and she asked him, "You've been here all this time?"

"Where else would I be, darling?" he asked lightly.

"Ah…" Jean looked back to Hannibal, "…Yeah, I'll be down in a minute."

"Good," Hannibal replied, and headed out the door.

Jean rolled over and glared at Murdock, "I never asked you to stay."

"You were sick, where else was I supposed to be?" he asked.

"How about downstairs with your _unit_?" Jean asked as she got up.

Murdock waved it off, "They know what they're doing, and there hasn't been any trouble all day, there hasn't been a sound from the neighbors at all."

"Well we know that _can't_ be a good sign," Jean said. She brushed her hand against her face and realized, "I lost my glasses."

"Broke," Murdock corrected her, "In the fall, you're lucky you didn't get your face cut all to ribbons too."

Jean groaned as she pressed her fingers against the skin around the corners of her eyes and stretched them out, "This day just keeps getting better and better…guess I _will_ be playing Audrey Hepburn now…world champion blind lady."

Murdock picked up the tray and said to her, "Come on, hon, they're waiting for us downstairs."

Jean glanced down at her bandaged foot and grimaced, "Cinderella's ugly stepsister…cut off a piece of my heel, the birds will notice the trail I leave behind."

Murdock's eyes traveled down to look at the same foot, and asked sympathetically, "Hurt much?"

Jean shrugged it off and said, "Long as I don't have to see what's under the bandage, I'll be fine. _Not_ knowing can drive you insane…but _knowing_, sometimes that's worse." She brushed it off and asked Murdock, "By the way, did they ever find out what the hell that hole was for?"

"Hannibal has a few working theories," Murdock said.

"And you?"

"Well it kind of looked to me like it might've been used to bury something."

"Obviously, but what?"

"Well, in theory it's wide enough to put a body in, but I'm thinking more like a treasure chest."

Jean snorted.

"I mean it…it looks like something you'd see in those 'Yogi Treasure Hunt' cartoons," Murdock said, "Hey! That gives me an idea…you think Hannibal's friend has a guitar around here somewhere?"

"Whatever for?" Jean asked.

"You ever see somebody get 'El Kabong'ed in real life?" Murdock asked her.

Jean shook her head, a small, knowing smirk on her face, "No, always wanted to try it though."

* * *

"You guys know I'm the _last_ person to actually _want_ something to happen when we're on a mission," Face told the others as they were gathered in the living room, "But I'm actually hoping that these people do something _soon_, otherwise I think we're all gonna go fruity from sitting around here looking at each other all the time."

Hannibal paced around by the windows and occasionally glanced out, B.A. leaned against the fireplace, Face was seated in a chair and Murdock and Jean were taking up the couch; Jean was still lethargic and with nothing stimulating to give her cause to stay awake, she rested her head in Murdock's lap and was in the process of falling asleep again. Murdock absently stroked over her head while he looked up at the ceiling.

"They're plotting something, I _know_ it," Hannibal said.

"Yeah, but you still ain't figured out yet what they want with this place," B.A. told him.

And it was obvious that Hannibal was still wracking his brain on the issue. "Must be something…" an idea occurred to him and he turned to his Lieutenant, "Face, can you smell?"

"He always smells," Murdock answered, "Bathes in cologne or something."

"That's not what I meant, Murdock," Hannibal told him.

"Oh."

"Ah…do I want to know _why_ you're asking, Hannibal?" Face asked.

"The air conditioner," Hannibal said, as if it was explanation enough.

Face did a double take, "_What_ about the air conditioner?"

"When you have the air conditioner running, you close all the windows," Hannibal said, "Hector didn't have it running, he probably didn't know how to fix it and he knew nobody would come out here to look at it…"

"I think the isolation out here's finally gotten to him," Face murmured to Murdock, who just nodded in response.

"Face, you come outside with me and we'll see if something's cooking," Hannibal told him.

"Like what?" Face asked as he stood up, "A fried possum or something?"

"Come on, Lieutenant," Hannibal said.

"Alright," Face whined as he followed Hannibal out of the living room.

"Brother," Murdock spoke up after they'd gone, and looked to B.A., "You believe them? Possum in _this_ area?" and shook his head.

Jean tapped his knee and looked up at him, "Ether's got a smell, right?"

"What she talking 'bout?" B.A. asked.

"I don't know," Murdock patted her head and asked her, "Jean, you got those heat cramps coming on again?"

Jean pushed herself up on one hand and looked up at him and told him, "Now you guys know that I grew up in a little town called Rotgut in New York, more country and suburbs than city life…we had neighbors but _not_ like these people, we were all pretty clean cut…but I _do_ remember a few things from the TV shows I used to watch before I left home. I remember in that "Walking Tall" show, them mentioning that ether was used to cook up PCP, made up in bathtubs and sinks…if _ether_ has a smell…"

"Then that could be what Hannibal and Faceman are out there sniffing around for," Murdock said.

"If _ether_ has a smell," Jean said as she sat up, "Wouldn't the whole cocktail have a more potent one?"

Murdock seemed to be half considering it, but still skeptical, and he told her, "Yeah but all available news reports have found the usage of angel dust has dropped significantly over the years."

"Doesn't mean _they're_ not cooking it up," Jean said, "Or something else, if they can cook up one kind of drug in the kitchen sink, they can another can't they?"

"Well…" Murdock considered the possibility.

"And that would explain it," Jean said, "Like Hannibal said, Hector keeps the windows open, he'd be able to smell it, if it's something strong then that's felony territory and the authorities _could_ be brought in, so of course they'd have to get rid of him one way or another, they're not just drunks…"

"But they were fine and sober when they introduced themselves to us," Murdock reminded her, "So if it's true, they may not even be users themselves, just manufacturers and peddlers."

"To who?" B.A. asked, "Ain't nobody else out here, no signs of any excessive back and forth traveling either, so nobody's coming to them."

They heard the front door slam shut and a minute later Hannibal and Face returned to the living room.

"Well, I can smell _something_ out there, but I'm not sure what it is," Face said.

"We need to be able to get over closer to the Bakewell house," Hannibal said.

Murdock burst out laughing, and everybody looked at him like he'd really lost it this time.

"Bakewell," he said, "Bake-well and they're cooking up something. Do you think that was intended to be a pun, Colonel?

"I don't think they're _that_ smart, Murdock," he answered.

If any of them would've been asked to describe the small sound that emanated throughout the lights in the house in the split second before they went out, a best guess would be some kind of miniscule crackle, or hum, but they heard a low pitched sound coming from up above and around the walls just before all the lights went out and the house became pitch dark.

"Are they _that_ smart, Hannibal?" Murdock asked as he and Jean got off of the couch.


	5. Chapter 5

"Nobody move," Hannibal told the others as he made his way along in the dark, "I'm going to go check the breaker."

"Hannibal, when has it _ever_ been the breaker?" Face asked.

"Don't move!" was Hannibal's only response as he disappeared off towards the back of the house.

"Don't move he says!" Face groaned.

"That's what they say in _every_ horror movie," Murdock said, "And you _know_ where that gets them then."

"Yeah, same place you gonna be if you don't shut up," B.A. warned him.

Everybody tried moving around in the dark without stumbling into each other but after a few steps, it was inevitable.

"Hey!" Face suddenly exclaimed as he felt someone rush past him, "Who was that?"

"Who was what?" Murdock and B.A. asked from off in different parts of the room.

"There was somebody here," he said.

Murdock felt his way along in the dark to get back to the couch and found it empty, "Wait a minute, where's Jean?"

"What?" Face asked.

"She's gone!" Murdock announced.

"Oh great," Face groaned.

"Jean!"

A possible response was the sound of somebody groaning from out in the hall. Murdock and Face managed to get out there when they saw a weak light coming from above. And following the light, they were able to see it was coming from a candelabra Jean was holding onto; with her other hand she held onto one of the posts in the banister because she'd apparently tripped on the stairs and fallen down. As they ran up the stairs to see what had happened they saw her doing a good impression of a pretzel.

"What happened?" Face asked.

Jean groaned and let out a small sound of relief as he took the candles from her and she explained, "I came up here to get the candles so we'd have _some_ light until Hannibal gets back."

"How the hell did you find them in the dark?" Face asked.

Murdock helped Jean up and she glared at Face through one eye and replied as though he'd been patronizing towards her "I'm an observant person, I know where things go."

"In the _dark_?" Face responded.

"Well finding the matches was the first order of business, and they were easier to find," Jean answered.

"Are you alright, hon?" Murdock asked as he looked to see if the bandage on her foot had been ruined in the fall.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she answered.

"How's your foot?" he asked.

"It's fine," she answered with a slight groan.

"Come on, let's get back downstairs before something _else_ happens," Face told them.

"Please, I'd _kill_ for something to actually happen around here," Jean said.

They got back to the living room where B.A. had been standing by incase either Hannibal called for him or somebody tried sneaking in through the windows. So far neither had occurred.

"B.A.," Jean said, "You better go find Hannibal and see what the holdup is with the breaker, it'll be our luck he'll blow the whole house up."

"Your faith in the Colonel is extremely underwhelming," Murdock told her.

"That's because I _know_ him," she remarked.

Face used the candles to dig around in the drawers to find a couple flashlights, and after momentarily blinding himself in the name of making sure they worked, he gave one to B.A. and seconded the motion, if nothing else at least it would speed up the process. Once he'd gone, Murdock suggested to Jean they get her off her bad foot and helped her over to the couch, despite her insistences that she could manage by herself.

"So what do you think?" Jean asked, "Think the neighbors decided to take a few pot shots at the power lines?"

"I wouldn't put anything past them," Face said as he sat down on the arm of the couch, "But I still wonder what that was we were smelling out there."

"_Don't_ you get any ideas," Murdock told Jean before she could even open her mouth.

"About what?" she played innocent.

"Jean, I love you, but I also _know_ you," he said, "And I know that if you thought you could get away with it, you'd put out _these_ lights and be out that door before we even knew what hit us."

She just shrugged and replied, "Couldn't blame me for trying if I did."

There was a small _click_ in the split second before the lights came on again. They looked up at the newly illuminated bulbs in the ceiling in momentary disbelief.

"Well," Hannibal said as he and B.A. reentered the living room, "That solves _that_ problem."

"It _was_ the breaker?" Face asked, unable to believe the luck.

"Yes, Face, for once it _was_ the breaker," Hannibal remarked.

"So now what do we do?" Jean asked.

"Well unfortunately," Hannibal explained, "Since we don't know _what_ that smell is out there, we can't very well go busting over into Bakewell's home on the suspicion that he's cooking up illegal substances in his kitchen, and I _don't_ think they're going to come over here and try anything tonight."

"So that leaves us waiting?" Jean asked.

"Until further notice, until something actually happens," Hannibal said, "Yes. And just as well, I'm in no mood to see how much worse you could make that foot in one night."

"Why does everybody keep saying that?" she wanted to know.

"Because we know you," they all answered together.

"Who asked you?" was her dismissive response.

* * *

The next morning, Jean lay on her back on the bed as Hannibal unwrapped the bandage on her foot to assess the damage, and Murdock sat up at the top near her and kept his arm pressed over her eyes so she couldn't see how bad it was, and he alternated between looking himself, and covering his own eyes with his other hand.

"Looking better today, kid, you had a narrow escape with this one," Hannibal told her as he doused a rag in peroxide to clean it.

Jean didn't move a muscle until the peroxide started to burn the cut and her whole body flinched, a small grunt worked its way through her clamped teeth and her closed lips but otherwise she didn't make a sound.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to see it?" he asked teasingly.

"Positive," Jean replied.

Hannibal shrugged and said, "Suit yourself," and set to work tying it up with a new bandage. "Alright, Murdock, you can look now."

Murdock lowered the hand he'd been using to cover one eye and when he saw Hannibal was finished, also lifted his arm so Jean could sit up and see for herself.

"So, you think the dumb hicks next door are going to try anything _today_?" Jean asked.

"They might," Hannibal said uncertainly.

"But they might _not_," Jean finished for him.

"That's possible too," he coyly remarked.

Jean shook her head, "You're more annoying than Sherlock Holmes."

"Comes with the job," Hannibal said dismissively. He lightly patted his hand against her leg in an equally dismissive manner and said, "Alright, you're ready for the day."

"That's a matter of opinion," Jean said, wondering just _how_ she was going to get through the day playing blind now.

It was easier when she could hide behind the black shades, and if she did make eye contact with anybody, it wasn't obvious. But now…that was the problem, these were the things they never told you about when you didn't know someone who was blind. Could someone without the ability to see still be able to bore holes into a person with their eyes and give the illusion of staring right into their soul? She didn't know…but she would have to try. She guessed, and she hoped, that those nitwits next door had never seen a blind person before, if that were true perhaps she had a chance to pull this off after all. And then…an idea hit upon her. If amputees could still feel their missing limbs, could still feel the pain in them, the arthritis in them…then might not a blind person, still acting on reflexive impulses, use their eyes in a manner which seemed to follow just like a sighted person? Yes…_that_ could work, if nothing else it would give her a good chance to weird out anybody she encountered, that was always a plus.

* * *

One uneventful day turned into another, then it had been three days since Jean fell down the hole in the backyard, and through all this time there was hardly a peep out of the Bakewells; it was unnerving and from the A-Team's perspective, unnatural. On any other mission by now they would have gotten to the root of the problem, got the bad guys bagged up, delivered to the police, and been back home for at least 2 days. Everybody was tired of the wait, and the heat, especially the heat, Face knew he was tired of it, and he also knew Jean was tired of it because all he heard out of her day in and day out was how she couldn't wait for this job to be over so she could go home and go swimming.

And that struck a nerve, for her as well as the rest of them. Earlier in the year, Jean had shelled out a few thousand dollars to get an in-the-ground pool put in; only it had been found out after the fact that she'd been the victim of a set of conmen who took the down payment and ran. Whoever they were, they were _good_; they found out which company was contacted to have the pools put in, got the addresses, and in trucks resembling the actual ones of the company, beat the real crew out to the addresses, measured the property, took the down payments and ran and moved onto the next pigeon. As a fellow conman he could both appreciate the evil genius in the scam, but also wanted to see these guy caught, and he'd given her his word that when they got back they were going to track down the men responsible and introduce them to B.A. and make them sorry they'd ever been born. In the meantime they had to have _something_ to use for the summer so Jean had ordered in a 24-foot above ground pool, it was just a matter of getting the whole thing put together and set up. But between the five of them, they'd figured that would only take about a couple hours.

Though right about now, Face couldn't say he didn't sympathize, the heat was about to drive him out of his mind. Even with the air conditioner running the house was still a heat trap, the kitchen was the worst, Hector had been right about that. Every night when dinner was cooking, the kitchen heated up to temperatures nearing 100 and that was with the air on, and it took at least an hour to cool down enough for the cleanup. Hell, his own room had been so hot the previous night that he'd taken to sleeping out on the balcony outside his window, thinking it couldn't _possibly_ be as hot all night outside as it was inside. He was wrong, if anything the heat outside had been even worse. Too hot to sleep, that's what it was, and yet, somehow he was sure he'd managed to get a couple hours' sleep, though for the most part he'd guess that over the past three days he maybe got a grand total of ten hours' sleep. And it was starting to show on him, he knew that, he knew that because he already felt like he was losing his damn mind and he was sure he looked the part as well. _Not_ good for his image at _all_.

The sun was starting to come up already, but he was in no mood to rise _or_ shine yet. He turned over onto his other side so his back faced the approaching sunlight and tried to go back to sleep. If he _didn't_ get some sleep soon, the rest of the Team would have _him_ committed, he was sure of it. He hadn't breathed a word of this to anybody but he was worried that he was already starting to see mirages. Nothing as corny as seeing a river out in the middle of nowhere or anything like that, instead the things he was seeing that he swore weren't there seemed more akin to an acid trip, not that he could speak from experience, but he'd seen enough crazy movies in the 70s to have a rough idea. And the worst part about it all was that when it was late at night or early in the morning like this, he could never be sure if he was having a dream or suffering from heat exhaustion and just seeing and hearing things that weren't there, fortunately most of the time it only happened when he was alone so he hadn't had to explain himself too much.

Now though, he couldn't be sure if it was one, the other, or if he was actually still awake for this one. He could swear he could hear somebody yelling down below. He opened his eyes and sat up and looked between the bars of the balcony and saw somebody standing on the pavement down below. Huh? Getting to his feet, Face looked down and saw they were no longer at a southern plantation style house, instead it looked like they were up in some building, and all the outside porches were connected by zigzagging stairways coming up the side of the building.

"What the?" he asked as he rubbed his eyes.

He looked down and saw that the man who had been yelling was…well, he didn't know _what_ the man was, but whatever he was, it looked like one of Hannibal's less convincing disguises. He closed his eyes for a second and when he opened them again and looked down, the old man had disappeared and had been replaced with a much younger man in a business suit, one, Face noted, that looked around his own age.

"Excuse me," the man said as he came up the stairs, "Does one Mr. Patrick Henry Rosenbloom live here?"

"No he does not," Face answered as he folded his arms against his chest and tried burying his face in them in hopes of being able to get back to sleep.

No such luck. The man came up on _his_ porch and for some reason felt a need to explain to him, "I'm looking for Patrick Henry Rosenbloom to sell him life insurance from my company."

"How nice," Face dryly remarked, and gestured for the man to go away, but he wasn't getting the point.

"This is a very good deal on insurance, my friend, you should get in on the action, you buy a $50,000 policy with us now, and within 20 years' time it becomes $100,000…"

The window behind them opened and Jean stuck her head out and asked, "Alright, what the hell's going on out here?"

"I can honestly say I have no idea," Face told her, and pointing to the man on the porch explained, "He's looking for a guy named Rosenbloom."

"Must be a gardener," Jean replied, and raising her voice for the man to hear she told him, "There's nobody by that name in this building." When she saw he wasn't taking the hint, she pulled her head back in the window and came out the front door.

"As I was saying," the man continued without missing a beat, "If you pay the premiums with us for 20 years, the policy then becomes $100,000 of life insurance. So, if you were to live to be 80 years old."

Jean listened to the man's gibberish for a few minutes about if they lived to be 80 or if they lived to be 90, then she disappeared back in the front door. Just when Face was contemplating kicking this guy down the stairs, the salesman looked to the door and took off screaming, Face turned and saw why when he saw Jean running out the front door with a meat cleaver in a two-fisted grip over her head. She stopped short of the stairs and lowered the cleaver and remarked, "And I suppose when I'm 200 years old, I'll get a velocipede."

Face could hardly even keep his eyes open, but he was able to stay on his feet long enough to tell her, "Thank you."

"No problem," Jean said, "There's supposed to be a sign at that door: any solicitors will be shot on sight."

"Not a bad idea," Face murmured to himself as he got settled on the floor again and tried to go back to sleep.

However that proved to be an exercise in futility because a few seconds later he heard someone else down below; opening one eye he looked down and saw the old man again, pushing a cart and seemed to be hawking vegetables like boys used to do with newspapers. He listened to the man's squawking about cabbage, lettuce, leeks, kale, carrots, radishes, etc., before it finally came to be too much He jumped to his feet, ran in the apartment, and came out a minute later with a rifle and he went over to the balcony and looked down below, but the old man was gone.

However, his heat induced and sleep depraved mind refused to let it go, and in a singsong voice he called out as he looked around the yard down below, constantly readjusting the aim of his rifle, "Oh-h-h vegetable man…vegetable gentle-man!" but nothing.

Face opened his eyes and found himself lying on the floor of the balcony outside his bedroom window, the house was a house again instead of a building. He looked around and everything was as he remembered it being, only by now the sun was up and shining on everything. Oh brother, he hoped that they got to the bottom of whatever the hell was going on, and soon, because between the wait and the heat, he was going to go crazy or stupid, or _both_. He got up and opened the doors leading back into the bedroom and decided to see if he'd have any better luck sleeping in his own bed, it couldn't _possibly_ be as bad as trying to sleep out on that balcony.

* * *

"Boy I wish we could get this job over with and go back home," Jean told Murdock the next morning as they sat out on the front porch while he continued reading from one of her vampire novels, "I think the wait, the heat, _and_ the lack of any stimulation is making Face go berserk. He was telling me about a dream he had the other night, sounded like an old W.C. Fields movie."

"Oh I wouldn't be too worried about Faceman," Murdock said as he turned to the next page, "He's a lot harder than he looks."

"Still the fact remains he _is_ a city boy," Jean pointed out, "And you take him, what, 10 miles out of civilization, away from TV, the radio, the daily news, to say nothing of reliable indoor plumbing, takeout food, fine restaurants, dry cleaning, maid services, his corvette, and _any_ remotely good looking women, and he's starting to go cuckoo here. What the hell do you think they're waiting for?"

Murdock shook his head, "Beats me, you'd think if they were going to do anything, they would've done it by now. I don't remember _ever_ having to wait around this long for something to happen. And they _did_ threaten us, didn't they? Does what that guy said count as a threat, do you know?"

This whole episode was a new one for them. Not only had they not faced any further threats, or any vandalism to the property, the nighttime odors were hit and miss; one night there was something in the air, the next night nothing, and the next time the smell was something different entirely, and none of which was setting off any olfactory bells for Hannibal or any of the other guys. Strange indeed.

Jean turned her head and glanced over to the Bakewell property and murmured, "Check it out."

Murdock turned to see what she saw and he saw about five people loading up into an old truck and then taking off.

"Huh," he said, "I wonder where they're going."

"I don't know, but how many people did Hannibal say are supposed to be in the house?" Jean asked.

"Well, we've never seen more than two or three of them out at any one time," he noted.

"So maybe the house is empty," Jean said, "And even if it isn't…"

Murdock looked to her as she shot up from the porch swing and asked her, "What're you going to do?"

"Shhh," she told him, "I'm going to go investigate, if they're not going to come over here and give us a reason to bust them, then I'm going over there and finding one."

"Jean!"

"Luella, remember?" she asked as she stepped over him.

"Luella!" Murdock whispered loudly as he stood up, "Are you nuts? What if they're still there?"

"That's why I'm going in alone," she pointed out, "If anything happens to me then the cavalry can come rushing in to save the day as they usually do." Murdock opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off and said, "Now listen, Murdock, if I'm not back in…20 minutes, _then_ you can send in the troops, alright?"

Murdock sighed, he didn't know _what_ she had planned but he could tell she had a plan, "Just be careful."

Jean flashed a smile that was not so assuring to him, and replied, "Darling, you know I'm always careful."

Murdock laughed nervously as he watched her make her way barefoot down the porch steps and out into the yard. Resuming her act as a newly made blind woman, she once again crouched down and walked on two feet and one hand and felt her way along with the other, calling out, "Pa! Yoo-hoo, pa! Where are ya?"

Murdock sat back and watched as Jean fell down in the far side yard and feigned disorientation and got up and continued feeling her way along to the Bakewell residence. Murdock watched with his heart in his throat as Jean made her way over to the house, and he held his breath and slowly counted to ten before he ran into the house and called out, "Hannibal!"

* * *

Hannibal was willing to wait for 15 minutes before he also went over to the Bakewell home, apparently in search of his daughter, Luella. He'd given the others orders to move in if they weren't both out of the house in 10 minutes; after all if there _wasn't_ anyone there, he _did_ intend to look around a little for anything incriminating. First he went around the yard, trying to look in the windows as he passed but they were too dark, so then he went around to the front door and rang the bell, but there was no response. So he opened the door and helped himself in. The house was dark, and hot, not particularly clean or organized, and it reeked of something awful though he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Luella?" he called out, half whispering, "You in here?"

The house was quiet, he didn't know whether to take that as a good sign or not. On one hand, the house was large enough Jean could be in another room and not hear him. On the other…

He didn't get a chance to finish that thought because as he crossed over the threshold leading into the kitchen, he felt something hit him in the back of the head and that was the last thing he knew until he regained consciousness. Since his men weren't busting in like the movie villagers storming the castle, he took it as meaning he hadn't been out for very long.

The man who was standing over him and holding a gun on him, he'd seen around outside but never really talked to, he thought that this one was called Henry Bakewell, a younger man, didn't strike Hannibal as being particularly bright though right now he did look plenty dangerous. And he saw that there was another member of the clan standing by the door, also with a gun.

"This the welcome wagon?" Hannibal tried to joke.

"Boy you a _dumb_ one, pal," Henry told him.

"Why's that?" Hannibal asked, gradually dropping his country accent.

"Come tres-pessing into a fella's home unannounced, thas' a good way to get your head blown off," he said.

"'Ah see," Hannibal replied, "Well I came over looking for…"

"Pa?" Hannibal felt his heart skip a beat as he heard Jean call out from somewhere else in the house. It sounded like she was moving around, and based on the looks on the Bakewells' faces, they hadn't known she was there. Hannibal saw her entering the doorway of the next room and saw her coming, feeling her way along, putting on a very good act considering she could very well see the men _and_ their guns and her eyes weren't focused on any of it.

"Pa, that you?" Jean asked as she came into the living room, walking right past the man at the door. When he cocked his gun and pressed it against the side of her head, she stopped but her eyes continued to look straight ahead.

"Don't move," the second man told her.

Jean cocked her head to the side and looked somewhat annoyed as she said, as she demonstrated, "I know…I know, hands up over your head, _left_ hand behind the back, just like on TV, _always_ left hand behind the back to get handcuffed first, and _why_ is that?"

However instead, the man grabbed her by the back of the neck of her shirt and dragged her over to where Hannibal was and tossed her down beside him. Hannibal looked her over to see if she was alright and, while he didn't know _how_ she'd gotten into the house, he did see why she was able to get in unannounced. No shoes. Jean had jumped into this country hick appearance with both bare feet and they were still that way. Her bandage had come off a couple days ago and now it was only a couple smaller bandages to keep dirt out from the cut that was still closing. Barefoot he knew she could creep around like a cat if she walked softly and knew where all the creaky floorboards were. Now, she couldn't possibly have known where they were in this house, but for whatever reason, nobody had noticed that she'd gotten in in the first place.

"Luella, you alright?" Hannibal asked as he helped her up into a semi-sitting position instead of being knocked onto the floor twisted up like a bow.

"I'm fine, Pa," she answered as she pulled her shirt down on one side to straighten it out, "What's going on?"

He looked up at the two men holding their guns on him and, trying not to sound grim about the present situation, told her as he put his arms around her, "Darling, I think we're about to be killed."

Hannibal looked around the room for a clock on the wall, to see how much time before the others came, but he couldn't find any.

"Alright, Mister," Henry Bakewell said, "Now how about some answers, what was you _really_ doing over here?"

"I was looking for my daughter," Hannibal said as he pointed to Jean, "She'd gone out earlier and ain't come back, so I came over to inquire if any of you-all had seen her."

Henry went over to Jean and pressed the muzzle of his gun against her throat to get her attention and asked her, "And what was _you_ doing over here?"

"I thought this was our house," Jean answered, "I got dizzy in the heat and tried making my way back."

"You expect us to believe that?" Henry asked.

"Well if you don't, sonny, I reckon we'd like to hear your own theory," Hannibal said.

"I think you just couldn't mind your own damn business, Mister," Henry said as he aimed his gun on them.

Hannibal raised his hands slightly and asked, "That a reason to kill a man, and his blind daughter?"

"That all depends on who and what you could tell when you leave," the man answered.

"'Ah see," Hannibal responded.

The second man went over to them and stared at Jean and yelled at her, "Stop _staring_ at me!"

"Sure, make jokes," Jean said as she continued to look at him, "As if I _could_ stare. As it is I can't even tell you to get out of my light because I know there is no light, because there's no heat burning onto my face. It's not dark outside, because the sun's hot, but it's dark in here, because everything's closed up."

Henry also noticed that Jean turned her head and moved her eyes in compliance with whatever small sounds were heard around the room, "If you' blind, why you turning your head?"

"Really now," Jean said, "You don't mean to say that just because an eyeball can't see anymore that it also can't move? Blind does not mean paralyzed. And you may note that for a person who has spent their whole life moving their eyes in accordance to see _what_ they're hearing, that that is _not_ a habit that's going to be broken after merely _one_ month of blindness."

"Uh…would either of you gentlemen happen to have the time? Could somebody tell me what time is it?" Hannibal asked, not sure, but sensing that the moment of truth may be upon them.

At those last words, Jean perked her head up like a dog and looked to the windows and answered, "I reckon it's dinner time, pa, 'cuz here comes Mr. Wolf."

A split second later, the windows were smashed open as B.A., Face and Murdock showed themselves in, automatic rifles and all.

"You win," Hannibal said with a small smirk.


	6. Chapter 6

"You guys alright?" Murdock asked.

"We're fine," Hannibal answered, "Did you have any trouble getting over here?"

"How'd you know?" Face asked.

"Wild guess," he responded, refusing to let on how anxious he'd been trying to count the minutes until they arrived.

"Found the rest of them coming back in the truck," B.A. explained, "We got them tied up before we moved in."

"Ah, good thinking," Hannibal said as he assisted Face in tying up the other two members of the family, "Good work, men, and now, to find out what's been going on around here."

"Hannibal," Jean said, "I've already taken a look around this place, there's a whole mess of something in the basement, either they're cooking up drugs or they found a whole new way to make moonshine."

"What do you mean?" Hannibal asked her.

"Lot of beakers and tubes and stuff, a whole workbench full of it," she answered.

"Like a mad scientist's laboratory," Murdock said.

"Maybe," Jean said, "Either way, I wouldn't go poking around the stuff, depending on what all they're using down there, it may be more than a matter for the police, maybe a matter for the NEST unit."

"Oh _great_!" Face sarcastically remarked.

"We'll take a look, we just won't _touch_ anything," Hannibal said, "Incidentally, Jean, how'd you get in here without being noticed?"

"Through the basement door," she answered, "How else?"

"I see," Hannibal replied, "Less likely to encounter anyone down there."

"That's right."

"And if you had, regardless?" he inquired.

Jean reached into her pocket and pulled out a gun and asked him, "What do you think?"

"Well," Hannibal said to the others, "Let's get down to the basement and find out _what's_ been going on around here."

"Hannibal…" Face started to say something but was cut off.

"I know," Hannibal surprised him, "Somebody needs to stay up here and search the rest of the house and make sure nobody else is hiding somewhere."

"We'll do that," Murdock offered.

"Alright, if you find anything let us know," Hannibal told him.

"We will," Jean said.

Once Hannibal, B.A. and Face had disappeared to find the basement, Murdock went over to Jean and asked her, "You alright, hon?"

"_I'm_ fine," she answered, "They didn't have time to do anything with me, but they knocked Hannibal out. Tell me something, Murdock, how _many_ concussions can one man have before they take toll?"

He wasn't sure how to answer that one.

* * *

"Drugs, eh?" Hector asked when Hannibal called that night after all the excitement had died down a bit, "I guess I shouldn't be too surprised."

"It makes sense," Hannibal told him, "Druggers have taken over the countryside because there's no law out there to go after them, _you_ were the only person around for miles that could've stood in their way in _any_ way."

"Sure, a scrawny old man, I'd be a lot of trouble for them," Hector replied with a knowing smirk on his face.

"You could be if you wanted to and you know it," Hannibal said, "Funny thing though, with you it seems they were trying to just drive you out, they didn't even try to kill us until we actually got in the house."

"Heh, dealers with a conscience, that's a new one," Hector murmured.

"Well…" Hannibal said, "It probably had something to do with the fact that when we caught the majority of them in the truck, two of them were a couple of teenaged boys."

"Boy they start earlier and earlier, don't they?" Hector asked.

"Turns out they _are_ all related, so that would explain it," Hannibal told him.

"I see," Hector responded, "So I guess this means you all will be coming back in the morning, right?"

"That's the general idea," Hannibal said, "Now that everybody can get a decent night's sleep around here without having to worry about somebody sneaking in to kill them in the middle of the night, we're going to take advantage of it."

He could hear Hector laughing from the other end of the line, "Sounds like a plan to me. So, what's going to happen to the good ol' Bakewells?"

"Well the boys are 16 and 17, the police will probably check first and see if they have any other relatives to relocate them to, and if not…"

"In a couple years they'll be turned out of the foster care system," Hector finished for him.

"Yeah," Hannibal replied, "As for the adult members of the family…I'd say there was enough paraphernalia left for the police to find to put them away for at least 20 years before parole's even a possibility."

He swore he could almost _hear_ Hector shrugging as the older man remarked, "Oh well, such is life."

"That was the second option," Hannibal told him coyly.

Hannibal knew that _everybody_ was looking forward to finally being able to relax tonight, and he knew two people in particular who were probably _especially_ relieved the time had come.

He'd never budged on his decision to keep Murdock and Jean in separate rooms across the hall from each other; though he knew, despite their attempts to keep it a secret, that after the lights went out and everything got quiet, one always sneaked over to the other's room for a brief visit before disappearing back to their own room for the remainder of the night. Oh well, he couldn't really say he blamed them, Murdock especially; watching the pilot these days it was obvious that he had it bad for that psychotic woman, and he couldn't help wondering how long they would actually make it before taking off in the night and eloping again. Of course he knew better than to think like that, but still he couldn't help it.

Somewhere in the back of his mind was a nagging little voice telling him that there was no way these two were going to make it to an actual ceremony where the rest of them would have the privilege of being present for the event. It wasn't anything that he could explain, certainly not to anyone else should they ever ask, but he had the strangest suspicion that the truth of the matter was Jean wouldn't have the nerve to marry Murdock with the others around, that it just wasn't in her character, not the one she allowed them to see anyway. Or…another possibility was that it was merely that she wouldn't want to take a chance on them being there incase one of them decided to object to it at the last minute. Trying to think as she might, and that was an area he wasn't comfortable with by any means, Hannibal could see that being a definite possibility, though surely by now she'd have to know them better than that. He'd _hope_, anyway.

* * *

"Oh boy, I'll like it when we get back home tomorrow," Murdock said as he stretched his arms a couple times before getting a running start and throwing himself onto the bed beside Jean, who was knocked on her side by the impact on the mattress."

"So will I," Jean told him, "Get back in the air conditioner, get that pool up, then we can go swimming and get out of this damn heat, I…" she turned her head to see him and did a double take, "Murdock, it's 85 degrees in this house, why the hell are you wearing long pajamas?"

"They're Face's," Murdock answered as if that explained it.

Jean reached over and felt the material of the long shirt he was wearing and inquired, "Silk?"

"Supposed to be one of the cooler fabrics, ain't it?" Murdock asked.

Jean shrugged and responded, "Beats the hell out of me."

"Oh well," Murdock dismissed it as he leaned over and snaked his arms around her waist, and dealt with her struggling and resisting and kicking him a few times and just grinned at her vain attempts to get away from him, "At least now we can have some fun together."

Jean reached back and elbowed him in the ribs and that did the trick, he fell back with the wind knocked out of him and she scrambled over to the edge of the bed, turned around and told him, "It's too hot for that, go to sleep."

Murdock had other plans though, he got up on his hands and knees like a dog and wagged his backside up in the air and said to her, "You don't fool me, Jean," he forewent the skunk accent and just went ahead with, "Your lips say no-no-no, but your eyes say…" at that moment Jean likewise got on her hands and knees and raised her back like an agitated cat and glared at him and he added, "Well look at that, your eyes say the same thing," and he fell flat against the mattress.

The next thing Murdock knew was he had an immense weight on his back and Jean pounced on him, and before he could really respond to anything, she had his arm pinched in a hammerlock. He yelped in initial shock and pain but soon gave way to laughing as he tried throwing her off of him and the two of them started rolling around on the bed and lightly punching and kicking each other, each trying to pin the other down. After a few minutes of that, they both wore out and collapsed alongside each other on the bed.

"Oh boy I've missed this," Murdock told her.

Jean smiled at him and leaned over and rested her head against his chest and replied, "Me too."

* * *

By 8 o' clock the next morning the exchange had been completed, Hector had gone back to his home and the A-Team was making themselves back at home at their own home. One thing to say about Hector, the man was one hell of a houseguest; it was hard to tell what if anything had even been touched while they were gone. The only problem when they returned was that it was already over 90 degrees outside and the air conditioner wasn't working so the inside wasn't much better off, and the heat quickly took a toll on everybody's nerves.

"Well B.A., find out what the problem is?" Hannibal asked when the Sergeant came back in later in the morning. The heat had even started to take a toll on the generally unflappable Colonel, he'd shed his safari jacket and was slowly but surely starting to sweat through the rest of his clothes.

"Yep," B.A. answered, "Out of Freon."

"Oh swell," Jean groaned, "You know how much one of those tanks cost?"

"The cost won't be a problem," Face started to say.

"Especially not with you handling it," Hannibal pointed out.

"Ha-ha," Face remarked, "Anyway…"

"Hey," Jean looked around the living room and noticed they were short somebody, "Where's Murdock?"

As if now just realizing he was absent, the others started looking around as well. And then they heard one _very_ familiar howl, but since they were all on the ground, nobody knew what to make of it. Face ran over to the front window and stood on a stepstool to see past their own front yard and exclaimed with disgust, "Ohhh no!" Turning to the others as he stepped down he told them, "Murdock's running naked through the sprinklers next door."

"What?" the others asked.

"I don't believe it!" B.A. said.

Hannibal was the first one on his feet and took off running. Jean tried to follow him but B.A. grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back. She resisted and told him, "I want to see!"

"No you don't!" B.A. told her as he pulled her back against him and clamped his large arms over hers so she couldn't get away, "Trust me."

Hannibal came back from the downstairs bathroom with a large bath towel and sprinted out the front door and found himself chasing after the pilot who was as yet unaware of his impending ambush and continued to run around through the lawn sprinklers waving his arms frantically and yelling to himself, "I'm free, I'm free!"

Hannibal tackled the Captain to the ground in one move and managed to get him wrapped in the towel as Murdock screamed and struggled underneath him.

"It's alright, Murdock, I got ya," Hannibal told him as he got off of Murdock and pulled the younger man to his feet.

"Not fair!" Murdock whined as he was pulled away from the cold, refreshing water and forcefully marched up the hot sandstone sidewalk to their own house.

"It's a good thing the neighbors weren't home," Jean observed from the front doorway.

"It's a good thing this is a relatively secluded area," Face added, "We could've _all_ been arrested for that one."

Jean turned to him and pointed out, "Face, if it didn't happen when _you_ were standing naked in Hannibal's bathroom window…"

"Come on, Murdock," Hannibal said as he walked the pilot up the steps to get him in the house.

"What's wrong with him?" Jean asked.

"I'm not sure," he told her, "But I think I'm going to stick him in a cold bath and see what happens."

Jean paused for a couple beats and then turned and followed after him, exclaiming almost gleefully, "I'll help!"

"Oh no you won't," he told her.

Jean turned to Face and remarked, "Well how about that? Looks like I'm not the only one who reacts badly to the heat…odd though, Murdock _never_ seems to be affected by it."

Face thought about it for a minute and just said with a shrug, "I guess everybody has their limit."

Jean did a slow double take and asked him, "You were saying about the Freon?"

"I'll get it," Face said, then turned and called into the house, "Come on B.A., I'm going to need your help with this one."

* * *

Jean waited until after Face and B.A. had gone to see how Hannibal was coming along with Murdock. She got up to the second floor just in time to see Hannibal coming out of the bathroom with his clothes wringing wet as well as his hair and every inch of his skin.

"What happened?" she asked, "Don't tell me you got in the tub with him."

"No," Hannibal answered, "But a close second…as soon as Murdock got in the water he tried swimming in the bathtub."

Jean shook her head dismissively and said, "We gotta get that pool up as soon as we get back to my place, Hannibal."

"I know," he replied.

"Well," she asked, "Is he alright now?"

"Yeah, he's calmed down now," he said.

"Fine," Jean started toward the bathroom door.

"Get away from there!" Hannibal told her.

Jean shot around like somebody had fired a gun at her and asked, "What's the matter?"

"He's not dressed," he said.

"That's how you took him _in_ there, I kind of figured," Jean told him. She reached for the doorknob but at his disapproving look she stepped away from the door, back towards him and said, "Oh come on, Hannibal, you think it's anything I haven't seen before?"

"_Yes_," Hannibal answered without missing a beat.

Jean paused a couple seconds before slowly nodding her head and replied, admitting temporary defeat, "Yeah, you're right."

Hannibal gave her a light shove down the hall, so Jean went and made herself at home in Murdock's room while she waited.

A few minutes later, the door opened and Hannibal walked Murdock in who was wearing one of the bath towels draped over his shoulders, and a pair of red and white striped swimming trunks that had been hiked up and looked like he'd been yanked into them hastily.

"I figured I'd find you in here," Hannibal told her.

"I can see that," she responded.

"Alright Murdock," Hannibal said as he gave the pilot a little push over towards the bed, "You just lay down and take it easy for a while, and _you_," he pointed to Jean, "No strenuous activity for him."

"Why not?" Jean played innocent.

"I just got him cooled down, I don't need you heating him right back up," Hannibal pointed out.

Jean chuckled in response and waited for Hannibal to leave. As soon as the door closed, she scrambled onto the bed and was practically on Murdock.

"What happened to you?" she asked.

Murdock looked up at her and gave a weak smile and replied, "What can I say? The heat fried my brain like an egg on the dashboard of a closed up car."

"But that didn't happen when we stayed at Hector's house," Jean pointed out.

"Well of course not, because I had to be ready for anything, ready at a moment's notice for Hannibal's command," he explained, "But since we got back…" he gestured helplessly, "I thought we'd be coming back to a nice _cool_ house…I just couldn't take the heat another minute." He gave a little smile and added, "I guess we're more alike than we thought."

Jean stroked over his forehead and said, "Well we're back now, so you can take it easy and rest like Hannibal said."

Murdock closed his eyes and gave a big sheepish smile as he replied, "I will if you stay with me."

Jean laid her head on his chest and told him, "Of course I will."

"Good," he grinned as he let his head hit back against the pillow.

* * *

Later in the afternoon, after Face and B.A. had returned with a few cylinders of Freon put in the air conditioner now and keep extra on hand for next time, they all went to Jean's house and helped her get the swimming pool set up. It took about an hour and the entire time Face had to moan and groan about getting his clothes dirty from bringing in the sand to make sure the ground was level enough, but then came the hard part, waiting.

"I figure it'll take until tomorrow morning for the whole thing to get filled up," Face told Jean.

"Of course that won't stop Murdock," she replied, "As soon as there're a few inches in there he's going to be jumping in."

Face nodded in agreement.

Jean looked past him and out to the street and froze, and then she hit Face on the shoulder and told him, "There they go!"

Face turned around, "Ow, there _who_ go?"

"That van, it's the same one that came here when those crooks said they were measuring for the swimming pool," Jean told him.

Face ran out to the front yard and the curb and saw a white van with some design on the side slowing down and pulling off to the side a couple blocks down the street. And a light bulb went off over his head.

"Alright, Jean," he turned to her, "I'm going to go get the guys and we're going to clean their clocks and get your money back, _you_ stay here, if they catch wind of you they'll take off before we can ambush them."

"What do I look like, an idiot?" she asked, and added warningly, "_Don't_ answer that."

Face went and got the others and Hannibal quickly hatched out a plan. They jumped in their van and sped down to where the white van was parked and B.A. swerved in front of it so the driver couldn't pull out. Hannibal quickly got introduced to the two men who had just been getting ready to load up and move out, and after getting a look at their truck, he got on the van's mobile phone and called the pool company and confirmed that there were _no_ trucks in that immediate vicinity. After subjecting the two conmen to a brief beatdown, they searched the contents of the truck and found a bank pouch and when it was unzipped they found several thousand dollars in it.

"Well looky here," Murdock said as he waved the money around.

"Ah, let's see," Face took it from him and counted through it, "Jean put what, about $5,000 down for her pool?" he collected that much from the bag and pocketed it, "And now I suppose it's just a matter of finding out who else was swindled and making sure they get theirs back as well."

"That's simple enough," Hannibal said, "We just call the company again and get a list of all their customers who were ripped off, then we drop the money off with them and it becomes their headache to sort through."

"_Just_ that simple, eh?" Face mocked.

"In the meantime, give Murdock the $5,000 and let him take it back to Jean," Hannibal said.

"But what're we gonna do with them, Hannibal?" B.A. wanted to know as he gestured to the two crooks.

Hannibal just shrugged and said, "We can either drop them off at the police station, _or_, get the names of everybody they cheated, rally them all together, hang these two up like a piñata and let the con victims settle it between themselves."

Face flashed a toothy grin at the conmen and told them, "Between the two I think you'd rather face the cops."

* * *

"First one in the pool!" Murdock yelled as he jumped off the pool ladder and made a big splash into the freezing cold water.

It was 3 in the morning and the hose had been running all afternoon and all night, and the water was only a foot from being the ideal height, by morning it would be complete. But Murdock had been on pins and needles all night just dying to get into the pool and test the waters.

Immediately after he surfaced, he heard the second large splash as Jean jumped in after him. The water hit him like sheets of ice and he let out a high pitched yelp. He turned and saw Jean rise to the top. She rubbed the water from her eyes and said, "It'll be better once the sun's been out a few hours."

Murdock tried to laugh but he could already feel the gooseflesh popping out all over him. He knew that they wouldn't be able to stay in long, and he'd personally give it about 10 minutes before his feet started going numb, but for the moment it was a very _nice_ sensation after the heat all day. They'd fallen asleep earlier in the night and probably gotten about four hours' sleep; it would have to be enough to run on for a while because in two hours they were going to be meeting with Hannibal where they were shooting the scenes for the latest Aquamaniac film.

"Brrrrrrrr," Murdock chattered after a few minutes when the cold _really_ hit him, "It _is_ a tad bit chilly, ain't it?"

"That's the understatement of the year," Jean told him, "But it _is_ nice, just the two of us out here."

"Hmmm," Murdock hummed, "Middle of the night, all alone, just you and me and the frigid water."

"Reminds me of when we first got married," she said.

"Huh?" Murdock did a double take.

"Remember?" Jean asked, "Remember a few days after when that big heat wave hit and, you drug me out of bed in the middle of the night so we could sneak off and break into the city pool for a midnight swim without Face tagging along?"

Murdock laughed as he recalled, "Oh yeah, _that_ was nice too."

"Until the trip home when we encountered Crane," Jean added.

"Mmm, oh well, every silver lining has a cloud to it," he told her.

* * *

Before six in the morning, Hannibal had already gotten to the studio, and into his Aquamaniac costume and had made his way out to the lake and was waiting for the crew to show up to start filming. And he'd gotten to the lake in time to see Murdock standing on the shore, and Jean out swimming in the middle of it.

"Jean!" he called from the open trapdoor in his costume, "Get out of the lake! We're gonna be filming here!"

Jean seemed to ignore him and swam back and forth a few more times before coming in to port. She walked out of the water and up onto the sand and grass and replied, "What's the problem? _You_ have to get into the water first before it stops moving!"

"I _know_," he replied, "That in itself is going to take two minutes, and I have to stay under the water for another two before I can surface."

"Hey Hannibal, isn't something missing?" Murdock asked as he looked around, "Isn't there supposed to be a pretty girl in an itty bitty teeny weeny bikini you kill?"

"She'll be here, she can't _ever_ get here on time, everybody knows the workday starts at 5 o' clock."

"And what, she shows up at 5:01 each day?" Jean asked as she lifted one leg at a time to shake off the water dripping down from her blue one piece swimsuit.

"More like 6:30," Hannibal replied.

Jean looked him up and down in his rubber monster getup and said, "Frankly, Hannibal, I just don't get it."

"Get what?" he asked.

"I've seen you surface from the water for your kill shots…and quite frankly you look more like a drunken wino at the Mardi Gras than an actual threat to _anybody's_ life or limb, least of all perky bubbly airhead blondes."

Hannibal waved her off with a giant monster claw. Just then they heard somebody yelling at them and they turned around to see it was the director, a very nervous looking man who looked ready to eat his copy of the script he was carrying.

"John, you can take that getup off and go home for the day," he said, "We have to cancel the shots today."

"What's the matter?" Hannibal asked.

"That stunt woman we hired for this scene, Carolyn something or other," he explained, "Apparently last night she was swimming at the Y and tore a rotator cuff, we _just_ got word of it. Why does everything happen to _me_? Now we've got to find someone else to fill the part and until then…"

Hannibal gestured to Jean and said, "What about her? This is…" he remembered what Jean had told him before about her at-work alias, "This is Jean Mattox, one of the best stuntwomen in Hollywood presently, she's done 20 movies. She's fallen out of speeding jeeps, she's raced cars, she's been tied to helicopter skids."

The director gave Jean a slight glance up and down and asked her, "Can you swim?"

"Sure," she said.

He gave her another look up and down and asked, "You been swimming _long_?"

"Only since I was about 2 weeks old," she replied half cynically.

"Eh, we'll give it a try," the director said, "Fortunately we hadn't gotten any shots of Carolyn yet so we won't have to bother trying to make her look the same."

"It's _so_ stimulating being your hat," Jean coyly responded to the man.

"Alright, John," the director said as he closed the trap door in the Aquamaniac's throat before Hannibal could get a word in edgewise, "Let's go through this once and see if it might actually work."

Murdock covered his ears when he heard Hannibal get off a muffled mouthful from within the rubber suit. Jean was told to jump in the lake and swim out about 20 feet and Hannibal would come in after her, at which point was her cue to try swimming back to the shore, except that the Aquamaniac was going to catch her and there would be a brief struggle before she sank under the surface of the water and drowned.

"Gee I never would've thought of that," she said condescendingly, "You've only made these movies 12 times already."

They went through it once, and apparently the director liked what he saw because he told Jean that she had the job. But, since she was built differently than the previous stuntwoman, she'd have to meet with wardrobe to get fitted with a two-piece swimsuit for the actual shoot.

Murdock went over to Hannibal and opened the trap door so he could see the Colonel's face and asked him, "Hannibal, have you ever seen Jean in a two-piece suit?"

"No," Hannibal choked over a mouthful of water from a leak in the suit, "Have you?"

"No," Murdock shook his head.

"Uh-oh," they said simultaneously.

"This ought to be interesting," Hannibal said.

* * *

When the leak was discovered in Hannibal's costume, filming was once again halted as the leak was patched. Murdock had called Face to come and pick him up so Jean could keep her car at the set until shooting was over for the day. Hannibal had been drying off in his trailer and reading the morning paper when he heard a ruckus coming from outside; for sure he could hear Jean yelling something but there were other voices mixed in with hers.

"Hannibal, _help_!" Jean yelled as she came running in, dressed in the shorts and muscle shirt she'd worn earlier that day when they first arrived.

"Jean, why haven't you gotten changed yet?" Hannibal asked her.

Jean jumped on his footrest and told him, "Hannibal, they're nuts! They want me to take my clothes off."

Hannibal gave her a blank stare for a few seconds before responding, "I believe that _is_ the idea of changing into a bathing suit."

"No!" Jean told him as she stepped down, "Not to _change_, _to_ film."

"What!?" Hannibal asked.

The door swung open and the director stepped into the trailer as well, looking more than a little agitated.

"Forget it, Berkeley, I _don't_ do horror movies," Jean told him, "And I _refuse_ to be filmed lying topless on the shoreline out there."

"What's she talking about?" Hannibal asked the director before he had a chance to respond to her, "That wasn't in the script!"

"Well we had a rewrite," he answered, "Look John, you know the business as well as I do, you're a man, I'm a man, we know how it works, sex sells."

"Oh ho-ho," Jean scoffed, "Maybe, but not _mine_, pal."

Hannibal found himself sandwiched between the two of them, and he honestly didn't know if he'd put himself there or if Jean had run for cover behind him and he just happened to come face to face with the director.

"If that's _all_ you're looking for," Jean told him, "You can find some dumb bimbo for the part, I'm sure there're plenty of them who'd be willing to do the breast stroke while being chased by the monster from the Black Lagoon."

"Plenty of them who'd be _grateful_ for the part," the director remarked.

"No doubt after they put a couple miles on your _couch_," Jean sneered, "_No_ thank you, I don't need work _that_ badly."

"Something else to consider," Hannibal added, "If you do it without _her_, you're _also_ going to do it without _me_."

"John, are you out of your mind?"

"No," Hannibal answered, "But I _refuse_ to cheapen my _art_, the perfection of my performance, so you can make this film appealing to a few more dirty men than it already did."

* * *

"Why'd you back out of the film?" Jean asked Hannibal as they headed over to her car, "Was it _really_ because of me?"

"Well it was a very _good_ reason," Hannibal told her as he swung his legs over the door and sat down.

"But _was_ it the reason?" Jean asked him.

After a brief pause, Hannibal explained, "It was _one_ reason. _Another_ is that Amy called earlier, she thinks she may have a new client for us."

"Oh boy," Jean said, "So now what?"

"Well, _first_ we need to do a little background check on this would-be client, and then when we decide if they're legitimate, then we have to make sure they're not being tailed by Decker, and _then_ they're going to go on a wild goose chase looking for a drunken bum, an English fisherman, and a very irritable Chinese launderer."

Jean let out a small chuckle and said, "Well, I appreciate you standing up for me."

Hannibal smiled and replied in a semi-convincing Irish accent, "Me dear departed mother always said," and proceeded in his normal voice, "Always be willing to stand up for a lady's virtues, even if it's more than she ever did for it. Sorry you're out of a job now, kid."

"_Who's_ out of a job?" Jean asked as she put the car in gear and backed up, "I've got to get home and get to work, my typewriter's been singing a sad note lately and is about to die of loneliness."

"Oh, you get the screenwriting job?" Hannibal asked.

"Nope," she replied as she put the car in drive and they sped forward to leave the studio, "I think I hit on something new altogether."

"_There's_ a dangerous sentiment," Hannibal observed.

"Nowhere _near_ as dangerous as 'a piece of cake'," Jean responded with a knowing smirk.


	7. Chapter 7

Clack…clack…clack…clack

Murdock rubbed one eye tiredly as he shuffled his feet down the stairs to see what Jean was doing in the living room. Of course he _knew_ what she was doing, the same thing she'd been doing all night, but this was getting ridiculous. After dinner he knew Jean needed the place to herself to work, so he'd been content with confining himself to his game room upstairs for a few hours; it gave him plenty of time to try beating his old records. After that she was still typing, and he'd been tired so he just went to bed and waited for her. But then a couple more hours passed and she still hadn't come up, still he could hear the slow, repetitive yet monotonous clack-clack-clack of the keys, so he decided to see what was going on.

He stopped in the middle of the threshold to the living room and looked at Jean still seated at the table she'd set up to put her typewriter on. There was a mess of typed papers all over the table and a few on the floor and one still in the machine as she kept her head propped up against one balled up hand and with the other punched at the keys one at a time with her index finger. When it reached the end and the typewriter _ding_ed, Jean turned the roll to pull the paper out and sent it flying in the air and looked like she was ready to collapse. Without so much as a word, Murdock went over to her, got behind the chair and reached around and grabbed Jean and tried pulling her up out of it.

"Let go of me," she grumbled tiredly as she beat his hands off of her with her fists.

"Come on, Jean," he said, borderline whining, "Come on to bed, you can start on this again in the morning."

"No," she replied.

"Come on, Jean," he repeated, a bit more forceful, "Stop pounding on that Tommy gun and come to bed."

"No," Jean rubbed an eye, "I want to keep working on it _now_ while it's fresh."

"Jean, it's 2 in the morning," he told her.

"That's fine, I can still get another hour done before stopping," she murmured as she rolled a new sheet of paper into the typewriter.

Murdock picked up a piece of paper she'd already typed on to see what it said, "You get the screenwriting job?"

"Nope," she replied, "Trying to come up with some dialogue for an audition."

Maybe _he_ was too tired to get it, but he looked up from the paper and asked her, "_What_?"

Jean pushed the typewriter back and pushed her chair back and explained, "A lot of these auditions I go to are strictly improvisation only stuff…you know how hard that is to come up with on the spot? So, I figured I'd type out a few ideas to work with _now_, so by the time I go _to_ try out for the roles, _I_ already have it memorized but it'll all be new to _them_."

Well it was a plan. Murdock picked up another sheet that had a bunch of numbers and asked her, "This part of it?"

Jean glanced at the sheet and shook her head, "No, _that's_ for a screenplay. So far no luck."

Murdock scratched his head as he glanced over the numbers, "What's 187 mean?" he asked as he noted the one at the very top, separated from the others.

"It's a police scanner code," Jean answered, "Means homicide."

"…Ah," he replied, wondering what _that_ was about.

"I got about all those codes memorized," she said, "Not that it's been doing me any good."

Whatever was eating at her had her frustrated enough she leaned forward and started beating her head against the table. Murdock snagged her by the back of her shirt and pulled her back up and told her, "Stop that!"

"I still have about an hour to go, so just leave me alone and let me work," Jean told him as she started typing again.

Murdock paid little attention to what she said, instead he went around picking up the papers that had gone flying over the night and tried to get them all organized, but it was impossible to tell what was what and what belonged where. So he just stacked them all together and set them in a corner on the table. Now that the papers had been cleared up he could see that underneath some of them, several large books had been piled on the table in sections. He cocked his head to the side to read some of the titles: McTeague by Frank Norris, The Wind by Dorothy Scarborough, The Perils of Pauline by Charles Goddard, The Bat by Mary Roberts Rinehart, The Penalty by Gouverneur Morris, The Unholy Three by Tod Robbins, Metropolis by Thea van Harbou. These were some of the largely forgotten novels that spawned some of _the_ most unforgettable movies to ever grace the silver screen back when Hollywood was making its way out of its infancy and on its way to adolescence. And even the ones that hadn't made a mark to stand the test of time as well as others, still left _a_ mark that carried over into the decades to come. And even now 60 years later some of those movies were even more famous than they used to be, and yet for all that, the majority of the world would never know their original stories.

And in the midst of these, he also saw several books about Hollywood and its actors and directors from its infancy and golden age. He spotted a couple books about Mary Pickford, America's sweetheart 20 years before Shirley Temple ever was; perhaps ironic or perhaps not given that at least three of Pickford's movies had been remade with Temple in them, _and_, Murdock thought, how odd that in 20 years the title of America's Sweetheart could transfer from a 25 year old to an 8 year old. _That_ was Hollywood for you, especially today, always looking for something younger, and younger, and younger, to be the latest new thing, and if they couldn't _get_ younger, they could present the illusion of younger. But more often than not they just booted out anybody who they thought had outlived their usefulness and their physical appeal to the audience. Also on the table were books about Lon Chaney, Buster Keaton, the Keystone Cops, Mabel Normand, Mack Sennett, Frank Capra, D.W. Griffith, Cecil B. DeMille, Eric Von Stroheim, and many more. If they weren't biographies they were filmographies, collections of those people's life works. He knew that a lot of these had come from Jean's own personal library, the rest she had scavenged up from the public one; this he knew because that's what she'd spent the afternoon doing.

It was no wonder she thought she could stay up all night working on this, _whatever_ it was. Murdock knew there had been plenty of nights they stayed up watching those old movies, plenty of times they stayed up watching them until the sun came up the next morning. A lot of them were just too funny to miss, others were just too powerful, whether they were stories of the future, or just a testament to the strength of the human soul and what it could endure.

Jean must've known what he was looking at because she stopped typing and looked to him and for a few seconds didn't say anything, then she said, choosing her words carefully, "They always say you sell your soul to become a hit in Hollywood…well…Hollywood sold its own soul _long_ ago."

Murdock had heard about what had happened down at the studio that morning, and if he'd had any idea what to say or do about it, he would've gone down there and used the director as a punching bag; but as it was it seemed that Hannibal handled it already and Jean had stood her own ground. He couldn't help wondering if that was what brought that on. But, he didn't say anything yet and decided to wait and see if there was more to that thought, and there appeared to be.

"Used to be Hollywood made a movie because somebody had a story to tell, something that would rip you open and pull out your guts and your tear ducts and your funny bone and your heart and soul and strew them all over the theater for you to pick up on your way out at the end of the feature," Jean said as she reached over to one of the books on 50's films and flipped it open to a still photo from "Rebel Without a Cause" and she told Murdock, "_Now_, they make a movie because they want to make $80 million, who cares about the storyline?"

Murdock was tempted to reply to that but he could tell there was still something else to it, so he pulled up a chair from the dining room and sat down cattycorner to her at the table.

"Of _course_ there were _always_ movies that stunk, but these days they're more the rule than the exception," Jean said, "And I _know_ yes there are _still_ a lot of movies made because somebody had a story to tell, but with all the scripts I've read, I'm going to tell you, Murdock, that too is something facing rapid decline."

Now Murdock figured it was his turn to talk. He just opened his mouth to say something when Jean came back with something else and she asked him, "You ever get the feeling you were born at the wrong time?"

Hmm, he had to stop and think about how to answer that one. Jean seemed to forget at times that he was a decade and a half older than her…but then again, he tended to forget that fact on occasion as well, preferably when he _wanted_ to.

"All due respect, Saint," he told her, "I really don't think you'd be any happier 60 years in the past."

"Probably not," she conceded, "But I'd probably have better luck of finding steady employment. You know how common it was swapping one gender of an actor for another of character? Like that grandpa in "Old Dark House", you could _tell_ it was a woman but they still went with it. Or all the men that dressed up like women?"

"Yes but _that_ was done for a joke," Murdock reminded her.

"Well it _worked_," she said, "And you know, some of them made pretty _nice_ looking ladies."

Murdock fell forward in his chair laughing at that.

Jean yawned and groaned and covered her whole face under her eyes with her hand instead of just her mouth. When she lowered it again she told him, "You know, silent movies get _no_ respect."

"Well now I wouldn't say that," Murdock said.

"Okay, they get a _little_, but they don't get the recognition they should, especially the _good_ ones…exactly what the hell _is_ it with people they think if there's no color or sound that a movie's not any good?"

Murdock shrugged, "Who knows?"

"Ben-Hur, The Ten Commandments, and King of Kings were all movies from the 1920s remade in the 1950s with color and better effects, but _were_ they better movies?" she shook her head, "_I_ don't think so, and I can't be the only one. And how about all those screwball comedies from the 1930s they remade in the 50s and made them in color and gave them all those big musical numbers?" she shook her head again, "The originals _still_ prevailed, because they were the _best_."

"That's a matter of opinion," Murdock said.

"And what's _your_ opinion?" Jean asked.

He paused for a second before answering, "Well I think you could be right, but still…"

Jean shook her head, "Mack Sennett once asked, 'What has become of laughter? There used to be so much of it'. And oh boy was he right. You know why? Because back then they knew they _had_ to be funny to entertain and get people to come see them. How ironic. 60 years ago people had a choice of going out to a movie, or staying home where there's no TV and no radio and just talking to each other, and they would. Today people have a TV in every home, which would eliminate a need to go to the theater if the features are lousy, but people will _still_ pick a bad movie over a night at home with the TV _or_ even talking to one another. Now how the hell did _that_ happen?"

Murdock just shrugged. Clearly the research Jean had been doing over the evening had left her with a lot to get off her chest, and he decided to just sit back and let her purge herself.

"You know how people who don't watch certain movies because they think there's no plot, just that iconic moment in them? Like people who won't watch Psycho, refuse to acknowledge there's a storyline there, all they think the movie's about is a woman being murdered in the shower. Older movies are the same way."

"What do you mean?" Murdock asked.

"If you asked most people to define Charlie Chaplin, what would they say? They'd automatically think of him eating his shoe. Harold Lloyd? Hanging off a clock. How about Buster Keaton? What would people remember him from?"

"Having a 2-ton wall fall around him?" Murdock offered.

"Exactly," Jean said, "And is that _all_ that they did?" she shook her head and Murdock shook his in agreement, "No, but it's _all_ they're remembered for, because most people aren't going to take the time to watch _any_ of their films, let alone watch _all_ of them and see what they were _really_ about. Nobody is going to think of Charlie Chaplin in connection to him using a hand drill to open a loaf of bread to stick his hot dog in, _nor_ will they remember him running plates and teacups through a laundry wringer. And Buster Keaton? Will they remember him being every member of the audience, including women and a little boy, watching him play every part in the orchestra at once? Or him doing the high dive to kill himself, missing the pool completely, and falling all the way to China and returning years later with his Chinese wife and 3 children to show how he made his journey? Or Harold Lloyd? Will they remember him as the country doctor who imposes a little excitement on the sick-little-well-girl by pretending to be an escaped maniac and jumps around on the bookcases around the room scaring the hell out of her caretakers who are trying to keep her sick and shut away from the world?"

"Probably not," Murdock said.

"Now you tell _me_ something, Murdock," she demanded, "_Why_ is it that Hollywood _can't_ make movies like _that_ today? Are they _afraid_ they'll have to actually make an effort and try hard to entertain people?"

Murdock scratched his head and shrugged, "Got me, hon."

Jean scratched behind her ear and commented, "Hollywood is indeed a weird place, they like to act like they care about their own, and then they let them be thrown to the dogs." She grabbed another book and opened it to a certain page and said, "Roscoe Arbuckle's put on trial for rape and murder and the prosecutor goes ahead with a case that has no evidence to destroy a man who made it his mission in life to entertain people and make films so clean that all kids could see them and laugh. Busby Berkeley, who devoted his career to making films so entertaining that people could forget about the Depression they were living in for an hour or so, also put on trial for murder."

"But he actually _did_ kill somebody," Murdock pointed out, "_Three_ somebodies as I recall."

"A car accident possibly the result of drunk driving," Jean replied as she slammed the book shut, "Worst case scenario he should've been charged with vehicular manslaughter, _what_ was the prosecutor thinking charging him with a premeditated crime? That's very progressive thinking for the 1930s, but it still didn't get them anywhere. And _like_ Arbuckle, 3 trials, 2 hung juries and a final acquittal, what was it worth then?"

Murdock wasn't sure how to answer that one, all he could say was, "It's a sordid town, always has been."

"That's for sure," Jean nodded, "But it seems to get worse all the time." She paused a moment to sigh and run a hand over her face, "I tell you, I have half a mind…"

"What?" Murdock asked, "Half a mind to what?"

She grumbled something and told him, "I've been toying with the notion of talking to Marie Frances."

"That big fat woman Face got stuck on a date with?" Murdock asked.

Jean nodded, "One and the same, I've been considering asking her if she'd be willing to back an independent film, something that makes an attempt to return Hollywood back to its roots."

"Think she would?" Murdock asked.

"Well we know she has the money for it, and it could be in her blood, there are rumors around the studio that her grandmother was good friends with a lot of the people at MGM when it was newly founded. Only thing is _first_ there has to be a storyline to sell her on, and for that it helps to have a script. That's where I'm currently stuck."

"Watcha got in mind so far?" Murdock asked as he tried glancing at the paper currently in her typewriter.

"So far _nothing_," she replied, "I got plenty of ideas in here," she pointed to her temple, "But try getting them down on paper is impossible, it's no wonder Buster Keaton never used a script." She groaned and grumbled and told him, "That's why I'm going to be down here for another hour, you don't need to bother waiting up for me."

Murdock didn't say anything at first, he just stood up, leaned over, kissed Jean on the top of her head and said, "You'll get it, darling, I know you will."

"I hope," Jean said.

She spent the next hour sitting at the table alternating between just staring at the old Remington and occasionally punching a few keys here and there, trying to get a few ideas down in black and white. Finally she gave up, tore the paper out of the roll, crumpled it up and tossed it off to a far corner of the room, pushed her chair back, stood up, stretched her arms high up over her head, and turned to head upstairs, and stopped before she made one step away from the table.

Murdock hadn't gone up to bed. He'd laid down on the couch behind Jean and fallen asleep there apparently waiting on her. Jean shook her head in disbelief and asked herself quietly, "What am I going to do with you?"

Murdock grinned big and opened his eyes and said, "I can think of a few things."

Jean balled her hands on her sides and shook her head as she tried to maintain a neutral line on her mouth, willing it not to curve up into the smirk that was trying to break through. Murdock pushed himself back against the back cushions of the couch and patted the space in front of him for her to join him.

"I am _not_ sleeping on the couch with _you_," Jean told him.

"You sleep on it by yourself, what's the difference?" Murdock asked. He curled a finger and wagged it towards him, "Come on, _come_ here."

Jean gave in and walked over to the couch, Murdock grabbed her and pulled her down beside him, and before she could move to get up, he pinned his hands down against her and tried giving her a hickey, but she kicked and elbowed him to get off of her.

"I suck at this," she told him.

"What're you talking about?" he asked.

"Murdock, since I've started my hand at scriptwriting, I've come up with ten different ideas, and never got any of them finished, and they're _all_ still up in the air barely 10 pages into any idea before I hit the wall and tried something different. I'm getting nowhere with this."

Murdock shrugged as he wrapped his arms around her and said, "It takes time. Hey, it could be worse."

"How?" Jean asked.

"At least you didn't have to spend the first two years learning to type," he told her with a knowing smirk.

Jean laughed at the reference and quoted, " 'You'd think with forty monks and one girl, that something would happen'."

"Exactly," Murdock said.

"Okay, so it could be worse," Jean said, "But it still feels like I'm going nowhere with this whole idea of switching from stunts to writing."

"Not nowhere," Murdock assured her, "You know it took Thomas Edison 2,000 tries to make a light bulb that actually worked? You want to talk frustrating? And you can note he never once looked at it as failure, merely as 2,000 ways how _not_ to make a light bulb."

"He had more time to waste than I do, and that's exactly what it feels like," she responded, "It just feels like I'm getting nowhere in _anything_ I do."

Murdock lightly tightened his hold on her and pulled her tighter against him and asked, "Ain't you a little young to be having a midlife crisis?"

She turned her head to look at him and said, "It's really funny, you know? We spend our whole lives being raised with the idea that the minute we're 18, we're ready to go out into the world and make it on our own and will automatically be a success because that's what everybody does and it's something anyone and everyone can do. And 18 came and went, so did 19, then 20, and now it's five years past that, I've been on my own for about a year, but other than that I don't have anything to show for what I've been doing with my life."

"Well how do you define success?" Murdock asked.

"Generally by how much money you make," she said.

"Except you know that's not the case," he told her.

"So says the man with $100,000 in the bank," Jean pointed out.

"Well that's another thing," Murdock told her as his hand found one of hers and gave it a slight squeeze, "You have an advantage over a lot of people your age because you're not under obligation to bring home a steady paycheck, you know if it comes to it we can get by on my finances instead. So that puts less of a squeeze on you _to_ have to prove anything."

"Yeah well, it still feels like I'm wasting my time," she said, "When _you_ were my age…"

"When _I_ was your age the world was still flat," Murdock replied sarcastically, "You can't compare your life to mine."

"By now you had already served with the Thunderbirds, you'd been in a war," Jean said.

"And _then_ I got air mailed express back here to the nuthouse," Murdock said, "Where I spent 10 years learning to fit in to stay under the radar, learning to slip pills under my tongue and blend in with the other crazies who don't even know where they are. You want to talk about time wasted?" His voice was deeper now, commonly associated with the 'more serious Murdock' when he would take a melodramatic approach to a subject weighing heavily on his mind, even if to everyone else it was all a bunch of nonsense. And he added, "I have no regrets for the time I was out with my Team, but 10 years is a lot of time for your everyday life to be consumed by institutionalization and hospitalization, believe me I spent every day thinking of plenty of things I would've far rather been doing."

"Even so, in that 10 years alone you accomplished more than I _ever_ will with my life," Jean said.

Murdock reached over and patted through her hair and told her, "You can't think like that, Jean, that's only going to depress you even more…all you _can_ think about is in terms of what over the years has occurred that you've enjoyed, believe me you'll get more out of that train of thought instead."

"That how you think?" she asked.

"Mm-hmm, and I'm thinking about one right now," he said as he adjusted his hold on her and rocked them both back on the couch.

Jean giggled and gave in and leaned back into his embrace. Murdock kissed her and nuzzled his face against her neck and said, "Darling I love you, but you just try too hard at everything."

"I can't help it, I've always been that way," Jean told him.

Murdock reached up and ran his hand through her hair and said to her, "Hey, I checked the paper's TV schedule, next week they're going to have those silent movies on all night for a marathon, that ought to give you a few ideas to work with and help get you unstuck."

"And my luck I'll probably be watching them by myself," Jean told him, "Hannibal says that you guys may have a new client so you'll be off on another job."

"Well we'll just see about that," Murdock replied, "I'm sure things will get back to status quo now and we can have the mission over with in 2-3 days tops."

"That would be good," Jean murmured.

She looked to the clock on the wall and saw it was 3:15, she cocked her head back to see Murdock and told him, "I've got to get some sleep, I have to be at work early in the morning."

"Another audition?" Murdock asked.

"No, Crowley that stuntman I work with has decided to try his own hand at amateur freelance directing, he wants to make a movie and asked me to help him with it."

"Oh boy," Murdock groaned.

"He's funding it out of his own pocket so it's definitely going to have to be a labor of love," Jean explained.

"What're you doing in it?" he asked.

"Stunts of course," Jean said, "I'm glad we're home because I've got to get ready for the part. He's got this scene in mind where the girl I'm doubling for, swims out to an airboat to sabotage it, and ducks under the boat as the people who own it come out, and manages to swim out of the way _just_ as the thing starts moving."

"Sounds dangerous."

"That's _why_ it's stunt work," Jean told him, "In any case it's largely stop-and-start filming, I'll be out of the way before the propeller ever starts up, it's just a matter of he doesn't want to risk something going wrong with the girl he's casting in the part of the daughter."

"Why didn't he hire you for the full part?" Murdock asked.

"Because like you said about Amy, _she_ looks better in the swimsuit," Jean answered.

* * *

"I'm _sorry_, Jason, but it just can't be done," Jean told Crowley the next morning as they were working on the shot. They stood on the beach a few feet in from the shore and Jean was in her bathing suit covered in water and goosebumps from spending 20 minutes out in the still icy water. "There is _no_ way I can swim under that boat and get on through to the other side, I keep rising up and bumping against the damn thing. The _only_ way you'd be able to get that shot would be to rewrite it so she weighs herself down so she _sinks_ and _then_ swims out."

Murdock had decided to accompany her out to see just _what_ was happening with this movie her friend was making, and he'd managed to talk Face into coming out with them. They'd been watching the last few takes where Jean tried pulling off the stunt under the boat, and they had to agree, from what they saw it just couldn't be done, least of all not the way the script had it written.

And for some reason, it was Face who decided to ask, "_How_ would she do that?"

Jean looked down at the way she was dressed and saw his point, and an idea hit her, "Rewrite it so she's still dressed, she could put some rocks in her pockets and sink herself, then take them out to lighten the load as she makes her getaway."

"Rocks? In _that_ water?" Crowley asked, "Jean, do you have any idea how dangerous that would be?"

"It's not _dangerous_," Jean shook her head, "It's _hard as hell_! Think about it, you know how small they make pockets today? You'll never get a _good_ sized rock with a solid weight to it to fit in any of them without it ripping apart. The only thing you _could_ line your pockets with would be a bunch of pebbles, and _good luck_ getting enough of those that they could actually weigh you down." She smacked herself on the forehead and told Crowley, "_That's_ brilliant, you should have that be part of her dialogue when her friends fish her out."

"Uh," Face suggested, "Maybe _you_ ought to write the script for it."

Jean turned to him, then turned and scowled at Murdock, who without a word insisted he hadn't said anything.

"She could definitely rewrite some of the lines for the daughter's part," Crowley noted, "Probably have better luck than I would, I don't have the _first_ clue how girls talk."

"Well you'd be out of luck there too," Face said as he pointed to Jean, "Neither does she."

Jean turned back towards Face and showed her teeth and snarled at him, he made a subtle retreat behind the pilot for cover. Murdock watched as Jean went over excerpts from the currently existing draft of the script with the director who was clearly in over his head and the two discussed specific scenes.

"I don't know," he heard Crowley mumble loud enough to be coherent from 15 feet away, "Maybe it can be redone."

"This part," Jean pointed to a page near the back, "Where the teenagers catch the man breaking into the house, you don't want it to just be a straight out and out dramatic confrontation, it won't be as memorable, you need something in it that'll stick out."

"Like what?" Crowley asked.

"Well look, they have that room at the back of the cabin with all the tools, if it was me, if it was somebody _I_ hated and wanted to screw with his head, I'd tell him that it was the room where we stuff animals and take him in there, saying 'I always wanted to see what a taxidermy _human_ looks like'. _Nobody_ in the audience would be able to forget a line like that."

Jason flipped through the pages and asked, "You think that would work?"

Jean shrugged and replied, "Unfortunately the movie business is only as good anymore as its latest shock value, you have to get something that'll jerk the audience to attention, and if you can keep it limited to an implication it's much better than actually _showing_ them anything because the mind can come up with far worse things than the screen can ever show."

"Yeah," Jason half nodded, half shrugged, "But would a 16-year-old really be able to come up with a line like that?"

"That depends on what kind of person they are and how determined they are," Jean said, "Jason, first rule of creating movie characters, the audience is too smart if you try giving them somebody who is too _dumb_, they know it and they _don't_ appreciate it, and stupid teenagers may be a common idea but at some point people are going to have to start giving them credit. Remember 'The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane'? That's what you want, that's what the audience will not expect, teenagers who actually know _what_ they're doing and are capable of outsmarting the oh so intelligent adults who constantly berate them for being stupid merely because they aren't 18. That is mere assumption mixed with whatever public mask the teenagers in question choose to wear for the world to judge them by, it's easier to get the drop on people that way when you reveal your true intentions."

Jason flipped the script shut with all the pages back in place and asked her, "Oh yeah? How the hell do you know so much about this stuff?"

"You ever hear Hannibal when he rambles on about of playing a giant rubber monster with emotional complexities and conflicts of interest? You pick up a few things," Jean answered.

"That's just Hannibal's usual runaround," Face told her.

Jean looked to him and remarked, "Well it _works_, especially since he's got you conning your way in as his _speech coach_."

Face opened his mouth to respond but came up short when he realized that Jean had him there.

Jean laughed and told Crowley, "Tell you what, when you figure out what you're going to do about the script you let me know, in the _meantime_ I have to go get changed, I've got _another_ job as an extra in a military movie."

"_Again_?" Murdock and Jason both asked.

Jean nodded and commented cynically, "Vietnam screwed over every high school graduate male of the mid 60s through the early 70s and is reeking havoc with everybody who ever knew anyone who served even today, and is eventually going to be the death of 95% of those soldiers who actually got back, but it's doing _wonders_ for the film industry because they just _love_ doing movie after movie after movie about the war torn post traumatized soldiers who come back to their homeland and _cannot_ adapt to civilian life again, and usually ends with him either turning the gun on himself, or some little folk town burning to the ground or being blown up."

"Business as usual," Face dryly added.

* * *

"I'm never sure," Jean said as she kicked her dressing room door shut and joined Murdock and Face outside as they headed over to the correct studio lot, "Whether I ought to take it as a compliment or an insult that I get stuck in so many male roles."

"Well given that you're in the back, you have no lines, they never really see your face, and they have no idea who you are," Face said, "I don't see the problem."

"Maybe _you_ ought to try it sometime then," Jean suggested.

"Well let's see, _which_ lot are you supposed to be at, Saint?" Murdock asked.

Face got a look at the scenery up ahead that had yet to be occupied by the regular crowd of cameramen and sound crews, and noted, "Well this isn't it, _this_ is the one for the Aquamaniac, see? _There's_ the costume!"

"I wonder who they got to replace Hannibal for the part?" Jean asked.

Murdock couldn't resist running over to the giant green creature and opening up the trap door and concluding, "Nobody yet, it's empty!"

"Huh, you probably couldn't pay anyone else to actually get in that thing," Face said.

They heard a car horn honking loudly and turned to see a convertible speeding towards them and kicking up a dust storm behind it. As it came to a screeching halt they were able to recognize Hannibal driving it and Amy in the passenger side.

"Hannibal!" Face exclaimed.

"What's going on?" Murdock asked.

"Amy's got a new client for us to meet," Hannibal said casually, and added, "And unless you'd rather keep a date with Decker who ought to be arriving here within the next 60 seconds, you might want to consider coming along _right now_."

"Nothing new here," Jean noted.

Murdock paused long enough for a quick kiss and goodbye before he joined Face and jumped over the side right into the backseat, then they tore out of there and left Jean in the dust. A few seconds later she heard a car coming and turned to see a standard MP sedan pulling up and she could tell that Decker and Crane were in it; but she noticed they were the only ones here, they hadn't brought the usual parade of MPs with them, and she wondered what was up.

"Alright, Miss Rhodes," Decker said as he slammed his door shut and walked up to her, "Where are they?"

"Where's who?" she played innocent.

Decker noticed the Aquamaniac suit and told her, "Get away from there, nice and slow, and don't try anything stupid."

Jean complied and raised her arms though she couldn't help commenting, "It's too late to say the same to _you_." She watched Decker and Crane go over to the suit and tried to interject, "Ah…Decker…" but didn't really bother trying _too_ hard.

Decker pulled a gun out of his pocket and held it on the suit and said, "Alright, Smith, we've got you now."

"I don't think you do," Jean spoke up. Then, just to see what would happen, she called out randomly, "Decker look out!"

Decker was caught off guard by that and turned to her for a split second, then turned back to the costume and blew a hole point blank into the Aquamaniac's chest. Jean drew back and said with a slight cringe, "Ooh you're gonna wish you hadn't done that, Roddy."

Decker moved over to the suit and grabbed the trap door in the neck and threw it open and looked like he might have a heart attack when he realized that there wasn't anyone in it.

"I _tried_ to tell you," Jean just about broke out laughing, she couldn't keep a straight face but so far she managed to keep from bursting into a fit of chuckles.

Decker spun around on his heel, marched back towards her and demanded to know, "Where are they?"

"Where's who?" she asked again.

"The A-Team!"

"Uh, have you checked your TV set on Saturday mornings?" she asked.

By now she _was_ laughing, and she was still laughing when Decker grabbed her by the collar of her jacket and was borderline choking her. There were no further words exchanged between them though because it was at that time that the director of the film had showed up along with the crew to begin setting up the lighting and sound equipment before they started filming. And the next thing Decker knew, he had one _very_ angry director screaming in his face about putting holes in the star of the film, naturally the actors inside the Aquamaniac were expandable, the costume itself was the true star.

"Sorry I can't stick around and watch you get your ears boxed in, Roddy," Jean told him as she started walking off backwards, "But I gotta go blow up somebody's car, see ya round!"

An hour later she was among 50 other extras in similar soldier uniforms painted in Vaseline and makeup dirt to give the illusion of perspiring to the point of near-death in a heat trap; and they were all toting movie prop assault rifles and grenade launchers on a lot that was made up to look like a Nicaraguan war zone and waiting for filming to start. Then, amongst all the typical noises associated with preparation for the first take of the day, she heard a sound from above. Up in the sky she could see a plane, so high up it was almost impossible to see, but it made enough noise that it almost sounded like a tornado touching down. Up that high it was impossible to tell what kind of plane it was, but she had a pretty good guess as to _who_ was onboard it.

"Good luck guys," she murmured to herself, "_Wherever_ you're going."

"Okay everybody," she heard the director calling, "Everyone into position! Let's try and get this right! And…action!"

Jean's eyes glanced back to the plane in the sky and before she heard the clapboard slam shut she murmured, "You ain't kidding."


	8. Chapter 8

That night, Jean was alone in her house alternating between vacuuming the carpets in the dining room and living room, and getting choked by the cord she'd wrapped around her neck to avoid running over it with the machine. She hummed something to herself as she worked even though it was impossible to hear over the vacuum running. In fact, it covered all noises, including the noise of the knob in the front door turning and then the door opening up slowly. Face slowly peered in and saw Jean in the dining room with her back to him and he smirked as he tiptoed in and crept up on her. He giggled to himself in anticipation of what her response was going to be as he came up behind her and leaning forward to yell into her ear a loud "BOO!" that could actually be heard over the whirring of the vacuum cleaner.

Jean's response however hadn't been what he'd expected, instead of yelping or jumping, she'd merely lifted one leg back and tried to kick him below the belt, thankfully she missed, but not by much. She stepped on the vacuum's lever and shut it off and turned to him.

"Cheater!" he said.

Jean shook her head, "Not my fault, I _saw_ the headlights poking in through the slats in the blinds over there."

Face grunted and went back to the front door and called out, "Alright guys, it's clear!"

Murdock was the first one that came running in, he made a beeline right over to Jean and lifted her off her feet and spun around with her a couple times before putting her down.

"So how'd it go?" she asked.

"Terrific," Face said as he adjusted his tie, "By the time that plane lands, nobody's going to have _any_ idea what hit them."

B.A. and Hannibal brought up the rear and closed the door behind them; they both made a beeline to the living room and promptly collapsed on the furniture.

"So what happened?" Jean asked as she and the Captain and Lieutenant followed them in.

"Aw man, this was one of the _craziest_ runarounds Hannibal ever decided to give Decker," B.A. grumbled.

Hannibal decided to explain, "We had Face scam us a big jet and he, Murdock and I got on it and took it out of state, landed it somewhere off radar where _nobody_ would look for it."

"We got off it and decided to find out _where_ we were," Face added, "_And_ if there was anybody around who would either help us or plug a few holes in us."

"So we walked around in circles for about an hour and didn't find anybody," Murdock continued, "So then we headed back to the plane, _just_ in time to find some people loading it up."

"With what?" Jean asked.

"Drugs probably," Hannibal explained, "Apparently that abandoned area is a pickup/drop-off area, planes come in to pick up shipments, and then head to…wherever their final destinations are, deliver the drugs, collect the money, come back, and start again."

"And they go through pilots like Kleenex," Murdock added, "One pilot drops off the plane, leaves, a new pilot takes over, takes it to…wherever, and after that, who knows?"

"So, instead of looking at it as a loss, since we were going to abandon the plane anyway," Hannibal said, "Once B.A. came with the van, we were able to contact the nearest control tower in the vicinity, inform them that a plane would be coming up soon that had been stolen from a Los Angeles airport, _by_ the infamous A-Team, and told _them_ how to get into contact with Colonel Decker who would oversee their capture upon landing, _wherever_ that is. The last we heard, they'd managed to pick something up from the radio that mentioned Miami."

Jean fell on the couch beside Hannibal laughing, "You're really too much, Hannibal, you know that?"

"Don't tell him that," B.A. growled, "It encourages him."

"But what about this client of yours?" Jean asked.

"Oh that," Hannibal slapped his thigh, "That's the beauty of it, they're _right here_ in Los Angeles. But _this_ way, Decker's chasing his tail for 3,000 miles just to catch a bunch of drug smugglers, so it's a win/win situation and _everybody's_ happy."

"I doubt Decker will be," Face reminded him, "Catching drug dealers may be good for his public image, but it ain't gonna further his rank like he wants."

"Ah well," Hannibal shrugged, "Who cares?"

"I wish you would've told me that before," Jean said, "I saw your plane taking off so once I got done working at the studio I called Decker and told him that you all were sighted over in Palm Springs so he wouldn't get the idea you'd left jurisdiction and go looking for you."

"What time was that?" Hannibal asked.

"At 6 when we all quit for the day," she answered.

"Oh well that's no problem," Hannibal said, "Because we got in touch with the control tower around 8, surely that would have to be enough time for Decker to come back empty handed, get the call, and take off."

"Sure, but there's no way he can beat that jet to Florida," Face said.

"Maybe not but I'm sure a military jet will still make damn good time for him to apprehend them," Jean replied, "And it'll leave him scratching his head where you all went."

Hannibal turned his head to her and said, suddenly realizing, "Now _why_ would Decker _not_ recognize your voice on the phone? Surely he's heard you enough times and I happen to know you do poorly at imitations."

Jean looked like the cat caught in the process of swallowing the canary, "Okay so _I_ didn't speak to him directly, I had somebody call for me."

"Who?" Face asked.

"Tommy Trang," Jean said, "Hey, we stuntmen gotta stick together."

"No doubt," Hannibal replied, "And did the rest of the Trang family have anything to say on the matter?"

"Oh yes," Jean nodded, "In fact, as soon as Decker got Crane and left his office, V.C. went in and dismantled the alarm on the window so the rest of us could get in for a look around."

"Uh…" Face was lost, "_How_ did V.C. get in there without being recognized? Decker interrogated her for three hours last time before letting she and her brothers go. What was her cover?"

"Japanese cleaning woman," Jean answered, "She pushed Jimmy in in the cleaning cart and the rest of us came in through the office window."

"And _did_ you happen to find anything?" Hannibal asked.

"Yes," Jean nodded, "Decker is a poorly organized man, and he especially will be when he gets back."

"You ransacked his office?" B.A. asked.

"No, we made it look like a tornado went through it," Jean said, "He's going to spend days trying to figure out if anything's missing and what you guys were looking for."

"And what were _you_ looking for?" Hannibal asked.

"Just making sure he hasn't gotten too smart and caught onto something," she answered, "From what I could gather by the notes he's keeping, he's just going around in circles as usual, and I'm all for keeping it that way."

"So are we," Murdock said.

"So what about this new client of yours?" Jean asked Hannibal.

"Well," Hannibal let out a huff, "It's one of the most unusual jobs we've had."

"Weirder than house sitting for Hector?" Jean asked.

"I think it'll tie," Face told her, "We've been hired to be some rock star's bodyguard because she claims her boyfriend's stalking her."

Jean turned to him and asked inquisitively, "And…?"

"Well common sense says when it's somebody famous and not just a run-of-the-mill lower-to-working class blue collar individual, that the police force would bend over backwards to help, but…" he cocked his head to the side uncertainly and said, "Apparently they don't approve of her image and think she deserves what she gets."

"And she doesn't have bodyguards or a whole _entourage_?" Jean asked.

"Paranoia's set in, she thinks everyone she _knows_ is out to get her, _all_ except her mother in Kentucky, and her manager, he's the one that sought us out," Hannibal answered.

"So how'd Amy meet her?" Jean asked.

"She's got a concert coming up soon, Amy drew the straw to interview her to boost the local publicity, which in turn ought to further boost ticket sales," Hannibal told her.

"Ah," Jean snapped her fingers, "Of course. So…who is it? Anyone I know?"

"If preference of music reflects on personality, that could be a safe bet," Face said.

Once again Jean turned towards him and flashed her teeth and growled.

* * *

"Well at least we'll have a few days before we have to go to work," Murdock told Jean as he climbed into bed with her that night and they both looked up at the ceiling, "That manager's going to have to take a car down to Kentucky to pick her up from her mother's house, let's see, if he follows the posted speed limits, that ought to take…"

"That's in the country though," Jean reminded him, "He could easily speed on through all the back roads and be there in half the time. You really think her boyfriend's going to try and kill her?"

"I don't know," Murdock said, "I haven't met him yet."

"So…" Jean sat up on the bed, "What do you think she's _really_ like?"

"Who?" Murdock asked.

"Who?" Jean elbowed him, "This rock star, who else?"

"Oh," Murdock replied, "Well…I think…" he noted Jean's glare aimed at him and he said, "I think she's a person."

"Well we _knew_ that," Jean said, "What _kind_?"

Murdock shrugged, "I don't know, I don't think _any_ rock stars are ever _really_ like their public images."

"Which would mean what…that she's some quiet, soft spoken mousy person who's never even kissed a guy?" Jean asked cynically, "I don't buy _that_ either."

Murdock turned his head to the side to see her and asked, "You want to meet her when she comes?"

"_No_ thanks," she replied.

Murdock nodded slowly though he wasn't sure _why_ he was.

"Listen," he said, "We got probably 3 days until her manager gets back with her and we have to babysit her…"

"So?" Jean asked.

He leaned over and asked her, "Between that, and Decker being gone for a couple days, I think we ought to take advantage of it and go out on another date, don't you?"

"And what number would this one be?" Jean asked, "Four or five?"

Murdock had to stop and think. "…Five, I think…"

Jean nodded and said with no conviction, "Yeah, sure."

Of course she couldn't fool Murdock. He got excited like a small child and clapped as he said humorously, "Oh goodie-goodie-goodie." He moved over to her and said, "I say we aim for tomorrow night, as soon as possible, to make sure _nothing_ gets in the way."

Jean turned on her side away from him and just nodded.

* * *

"It's _not_ that I have a problem with them dating," Face told Hannibal the next morning, "I just don't like _thinking_ about it."

"Why's that?" Hannibal asked as he forewent making any eye contact with his Lieutenant to read the morning paper.

"I just _don't_! Do I need a reason?" Face asked.

"You may," Hannibal replied over his cigar, "If you don't want people to think you're jealous."

"Jealous?" Face practically choked on the word, "Jealous of Murdock?"

"Or…of Jean," Hannibal said as he flipped a page.

"Of Je-," Face choked on a strangled laugh and said, "You can't be serious."

"There's always a _third_ possibility," Hannibal insisted, "That perhaps you're jealous of _both_ of them."

"Now that's the _craziest_ thing I ever heard, even from you, Hannibal," Face said.

Hannibal finally put the newspaper aside and said, "Well let's try looking at this from a psychological point of view."

"Oh please don't," Face said, "You're even worse at that than Murdock is."

"Still," Hannibal ignored his protests, "The fact remains that there must be a reason that thinking about this makes you uncomfortable. I'm _sure_ that if I were to ask Murdock the same thing, his response would be that he doesn't have any problem thinking about what you do on _your_ dates. _So_ I would go on a limb and guess that there is some deep seated issue rooted in here somewhere."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Face asked in a borderline sickened tone.

"A bit," Hannibal gleefully replied.

Jean came down the stairs and paused in the dining room threshold to ask them, "What're you guys talking about?"

"Oh nothing," Hannibal said, "Oh incidentally, Jean, I wanted to ask you something. When you think of Face and his," Hannibal cleared his throat, "Dates being out for the night, what generally comes to your mind?"

Jean squinted one eye as she seemed to consider that question, she turned and looked at Face and looked him over once and responded with a sudden, jerking, singular laugh, "HA!" Followed by a few smaller, equally short laughs, and she laughed all the way into the kitchen.

"Okay," Hannibal said with a straight face, "So now we have Jean's opinion on the subject."

"Don't ask me to explain it, Hannibal, I _just_ don't like thinking about it," Face said, "Even though I know that all they do is _weird_ stuff…"

"What kind of weird stuff?" Hannibal asked, curious to know _and_ curious to know _how_ his Lieutenant knew about their activities.

Face really hadn't wanted to explain that one, but he did, "Okay, the _last_ time they went out, you remember B.A. was working on Jean's car so they just decided to walk around for the night? Well it started raining about halfway through so they spent the rest of the night in a drugstore seeing how many pieces of chewing gum they could stick in their mouths and still talk."

Hannibal was oddly silent to that for a few seconds, before asking, "Who won?"

Face shook his head, "It's just the little things like that, Hannibal, it's _weird_."

"To _you_," Hannibal said, "Don't forget this is Murdock we're talking about."

"No," Face said, "This is Murdock and _Jean_."

A slight smirk found its way to Hannibal's face as he said, "_Sounds_ like jealousy to me."

"Oh please, what reason would I have to be jealous about _either_ of them?" Face asked.

Hannibal made a small sound in his throat before responding, "Just seems that now it's Murdock always going out enjoying himself and a lot of times _you're_ the one sitting home at night."

"Yeah well living with you and B.A. makes it a little hard to bring a date back to entertain," Face pointed out.

"Is there a problem with her place?" Hannibal inquired, "Besides, you seem to forget, for 10 years _you_ were the one having all the fun while Murdock stayed at the V.A."

"Not _all_ the time," Face said.

"No, not _all_ the time," Hannibal shook his head, "But all the times we managed to keep him out, they _weren't_ enough either. It's one thing for you to throw your casual relationships aside after a couple of dates and the fun wears out, Murdock didn't have that option because any chance at one he had was always cut short because he had to return to the hospital, any women he got involved with always moved on before we could break him out again."

Face didn't say anything in response but it was obvious from the look on his face that he hadn't really thought about that, and now he looked like somebody had knocked him in the gut with a sharp rock.

"I think, Face," he continued, "That you're getting nervous."

"Me? About what?"

Hannibal shrugged and said, "The fact that Murdock's time and attention _and_ loyalty is already divided between all of us individually but now also between you _and_ his girlfriend. And when the time comes that those two get married, he won't have as much time for _you_ anymore."

"I'm _not_," Face insisted.

Hannibal half shrugged dismissively, "If you're sure…"

"I _am_," Face replied, "I'm _glad_ he's finally met someone, that he _has_ a stable relationship, _even_ if it's with that psychotic _loon._"

Jean came out of the kitchen at the last part and replied in passing to Face, "Yeah, same to you and more of it."

Hannibal choked on a snicker as she headed back up the stairs and left them to talk amongst themselves.

"So has Murdock mentioned what he's got planned for tonight?" he asked.

"He wouldn't tell me," Face said, "He said he doesn't want to risk it getting back to Jean, he _really_ thinks that we'd tell her?"

"No," Hannibal answered, "He thinks she's got the house bugged."

* * *

The afternoon was hot and Murdock decided to make good use of the swimming pool, as did Jean. Though to most the heat outside could be considered unbearable, it wasn't anything that the A-Team hadn't deal with a thousand times over, be it living in L.A. during the summer or taking a trip to a warmer climate for a job. Face went out and set up a lounge chair to sun himself on but he refused to go anywhere near the pool and get wet. Hannibal had also joined them out in the side yard to get a little color himself and got a few laughs when he came out in a T-shirt and the swimming shorts he usually wore under his Aquamaniac suit. When B.A. had come out as well, Murdock had felt a need to point out that at least his color was fine as it was, which got him a low growl of response from the angry mudsucker.

The other three listened to Murdock's screeches and yelps as he splashed around in the pool for as long as they could before it started to wear on their nerves. Hannibal went over to the ladder and climbed up to get a better look at the two of them, and he noticed two things: one was today Murdock was dressed in a slightly more conservative pair of swim trunks _and_ a T-shirt, likely to preserve some of the whiter skin he still maintained on top instead of trading it in for a nice lobster red shade, and the other thing he noticed was the way Jean was swimming.

"Hey Jean," he called to her, "_That_ how you plan to swim for the stunt scene in that movie?"

"Is there something wrong with it?" she asked.

"Yeah," he answered, "You're hardly using your legs."

"What're you talking about?" Jean asked as she stood up in the water.

Hannibal stepped over to the other side and dropped down into the pool, making a surprisingly restrained splash that barely sent any water out of the pool, and went over to her.

"I noticed when you swim you're only using your arms, you're supposed to _kick_ too."

"I _am_," Jean insisted.

"Yes, but not enough though," Hannibal replied, "Go back and forth a couple times so I can see it better."

Jean didn't get it, but she swam back and forth from end to end again so he could watch her and he went over to her, grabbed her by her feet and about knocked her under the water and told her, "See, you're not kicking enough, you need to kick more, and harder, you're not a fish, you need to be more forceful in the water."

"Okay," Jean said, and getting loose from his grip she kicked her feet hard enough to send the water flying everywhere, mainly on Hannibal, and once she got across to the other end she looked back and asked, "_How's_ that?"

Hannibal spat out a mouthful of water, ran a hand through his hair and wiped the drops from his eyes and replied nonchalantly, "Pretty good," and moved to get out of the pool.

Murdock pressed himself against the pool's wall across from Jean and planted his feet firmly on the pool floor and slowly crouched down into the water. As soon as Hannibal was out of the pool and Jean had her back to him, he sprinted forth in the water like a shark and ducked down underneath Jean and lifted her up out of the water onto his back and dove under with her hanging onto him before she even really realized what had happened.

Face took off his sunglasses and looked over to the pool and asked Hannibal, "What's going on over there?"

"Oh nothing," Hannibal replied with a satisfied look on his face, "Just Murdock playing creature-from-the-ocean-floor with Jean."

"Oh brother," Face groaned as he threw his head back against the lounge.

And apparently B.A. was inclined to agree. He went over to the pool and stood alongside Hannibal watching Murdock zipping around under the water, on occasion coming up for a breath of air and then diving under again, all the while Jean managed to maintain a grip on him like a barfly riding a mechanical bull. Of course Hannibal had a different mental image in mind watching the two of them. He flashed on one of those old movies with Tarzan and Jane in the jungle, except Hannibal noted, these two still had their clothes on…well, for _now_ anyway.

Murdock doubled around again and shot up again for another breath of air and when he did, B.A. grabbed him hard enough to stop him cold and in the process threw Jean off his back and she fell back in the water. She resurfaced rubbing the water from her eyes and spitting out what she'd about swallowed when she went in. Murdock coughed and choked as he tried to pry B.A.'s fat fingers off from his neck, and when he finally did he jumped and back in the water and asked, "What was that for, B.A.?"

"I told you before, fool," B.A. said as he curled his fingers into a fist and stuck it right in front of Murdock's nose, "You ain't no fish, so stop acting like one."

"You also said I couldn't swim either," Murdock replied defiantly, "Now am I or am I not swimming?"

B.A. growled at him and Murdock took the hint and jumped back even further, knocking into Jean and both of them fell under the surface of the water again.

* * *

Murdock was finishing up his shower and pulled the curtain back slightly to see Jean standing by the sink looking at her reflection as she stuffed a Q-tip soaked in rubbing alcohol into her ear to dry it out and open it up.

"I hope Faceman don't mind, I used up the rest of his conditioner," he called out from the shower.

Jean cringed as the alcohol started to burn and she replied, "He don't even swim, what does he use conditioner for?"

Murdock just shrugged and drew the curtain back. He shut the water off and waited, listening, to see if Jean was going to leave the room so he could get out and dry off, but he didn't hear anyone leave. He pulled the curtain open an inch again and called out, "Can you hear again yet?"

Jean turned to him and half yelled, "_What_?"

"Very funny."

"Not yet," Jean answered, "But I guess it's no matter, I can hear you just as well with one ear for the night." She went over to the shower and asked him, "So _where_ are we going for our date tonight?"

"Uh-uh-uh," he shook his finger at her, "You know better than that."

Jean stuck her thumbnail in her ear and twisted it, and even Murdock could hear the small 'pop' as it opened up.

"What'd you say?" she asked.

Murdock struggled to maintain a straight face and he asked her, "Will you get _out_ of here?"

Jean gave a mocking scowl but finally turned and left the bathroom. Murdock waited a minute _just_ to make sure she didn't come popping in on him, then he grabbed a towel and stepped out. He looked at the clock on the wall and did the mental mathematics on how long it was until they went out on their date.

* * *

"Well, how do I look?" Murdock asked as he entered the living room dressed in dark dress pants, a gray jacket and a white dress shirt. His hair had also been tamed and smoothed back for the evening.

"You look _very_ nice, Captain," Hannibal said as he stood up from the sofa and couldn't resist reaching over and straightening out the collar though, "So what do you have planned for tonight? You still haven't told us."

"Oh well, no offense Colonel, but that's kind of the idea," Murdock told him, "The less anybody else knows, the lesser chance Jean could know."

Face grumbled something from behind the magazine he was pretending to read.

"Would you care to speak up, Lieutenant?" Hannibal asked.

"Oh I was just wondering," Face said as he lowered his magazine and got up, "And exactly how is _Jean_ dressed for the night? I mean," he said to Murdock as he went over to the pilot and walked around him, taking note of how much work had gone into his appearance for the night, "Why go to all the trouble of getting dressed up for _that_ woman who you _know_ is going to be…she's right behind me, isn't she?"

Hannibal and Murdock both nodded at the same time he heard Jean say, "Yes I am, would you care turning this way for your mudslinging campaign?"

Slowly, Face turned to face the music, but saw that he wasn't far off. Jean was dressed in a dark red T-shirt, a denim vest the same color as her jeans, and black and white sneakers. Face did a double take looking to her, and then to Hannibal, and then back at her.

"Now she's raiding Hannibal's closet," he murmured under his breath.

Jean walked into the room and asked Murdock, "Are we ready to go?"

"Yeah uh, I'm going to need your keys," Murdock told her.

Now Jean did a double take, "_My_ keys?"

"Well darling, you can't drive us where we're going, you don't know _where_ we're going," Murdock pointed out.

Jean huffed and replied, "Alright."

"Good, now…will you go wait in the car for a minute? I have to discuss something with the Colonel," he said.

She shrugged and said, "Alright," and headed out of the room.

Murdock turned to Hannibal and leaned into him to say confidentially, "Colonel, you know I would _never_ dream of kicking you out…"

"But you'd rather we not be here when you two get back tonight," Hannibal said.

"Yeah," Murdock answered.

Hannibal nodded and patted Murdock's shoulder and said, "You got it, Captain, we'll let you two have some privacy for a change," he turned to his Lieutenant and added, "Come on, Face, let's find B.A. and head back to the house."

* * *

Jean felt the warm evening breeze blow on her face and through her hair as they sped along through the largely unoccupied streets around the more suburban part of Los Angeles and she looked at Murdock's reflection in the rear view mirror and asked him, "Why do you think Face hates me?"

Murdock looked over at her, then back at the road and replied, "What're you talking about? Faceman doesn't hate you."

"Well he doesn't like me," Jean said, "And you can tell he doesn't approve of us dating."

"Oh don't pay any attention to that," Murdock said, "He just likes being obnoxious, you know how Face is, if he can't find something to complain about, he's lost."

"_Always_ with me though, never anyone else," Jean told him.

"That's cuz he knows you can take it, just like all the times you pick on him," Murdock replied.

Jean smiled and let out a small laugh as she remarked, "Oh yeah, good stuff."

The air was certainly having an effect on her. So far it had been a very nice date due to the fact that nothing had happened that required calling in the police, an ambulance, _or_ the whole United States Army. First they'd gone to Burger Haven for dinner, not necessarily a place Jean would've picked but she knew it was one of Murdock's favorites so she went along with it. And then after that, actually a while after that so their dinner had time to settle, they'd gone to a roller rink and spent about an hour skating around the place in very large circles and trying _not_ to fall down but a few spills were inevitable. More than once in the evening so far she'd been tempted to ask why he'd insisted on overdressing for these sorts of occasions, but she knew that there _was_ always a method to his madness, and she figured that whatever the reason was would be revealed before too much longer. But the air, there was just something about being out in the hot night air, it was about to put her to sleep, more than once during the drive she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes for a few seconds before snapping to attention again.

Murdock stopped the car on an empty street just around from some of the downtown businesses and started to get out of the car.

"Why're we stopping here?" Jean asked him.

"I have to go around the corner and pick something up," he said, "Do me a favor and stay here till I get back, alright? I should be back in," he consulted his watch, "Five minutes."

She didn't get it, but she agreed, and stayed put while Murdock disappeared around the corner. Jean sat in the car and waited…and she waited…and waited…and waited. She didn't wear a watch but she knew that more than just five minutes had gone by, maybe 10, maybe 15, she didn't know. More than once she'd been tempted to go find him but instead, she fell asleep in the car waiting for him.

And she woke up when she heard a noise and it was a few seconds before she realized the sound was a bunch of stuff being dropped on her lap. She opened her eyes and saw a mess of stuff dumped in the car on her side and it took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to see what it all was: a couple bouquets of flowers, a couple bottles of wine and sherry, a box of candy, a few boxes of Red Vines, a few comic books, maybe half a dozen packs of chewing gum, an assortment of full size candy bars, bottles of perfume and bubble bath, and a couple of large teddy bears.

"Murdock!" she exclaimed at the man standing by the curb with an amused look on his face, "What…what…"

Instead of answering her right away, Murdock went back around to the driver side door and got in and started to help her get everything picked up.

"What's going on?" Jean asked.

Murdock just gave a small laugh as he explained, "Just a little idea I had to surprise you."

"Well it worked," Jean tiredly replied as she grabbed at things and tossed them in the backseat. She managed to grab hold of one teddy bear, a large bottle of perfume and a carton of bubble gum cigarettes.

The gears were turning a little slower in Jean's head than usual but the answer finally came to her and she looked at Murdock and said, "You had this planned."

"Guilty as charged," he replied with a big grin as he started up the car and got them out of there, "And everything's for you…_except_ the yellow roses of course."

Jean found that bouquet and asked him, feeling that this was a familiar game that had been played once before and she already knew the answer, "Who're they for?"

Simultaneously they answered, "Your crazy mother."

"You want my opinion," Jean said as she tossed the rest of the haul into the back, "Robert Redford's the last guy to be taking cues from."

"Maybe, but it worked," Murdock pointed out, "You certainly weren't expecting _that_."

Jean tried to keep her eyes open but she knew it was a losing battle since she could only feel the stuffed animal she was holding against her and didn't know what it looked like, "Mm-hmm…so where to now?"

Murdock hadn't heard her question, a few minutes later he turned to Jean to ask her something and was surprised to see that she was leaning back against her seat and was asleep. He reached over and shook her shoulder, but it got no response out of her. Murdock considered his options, he could turn the car around and take them home for the night, or…he passed by the answer and did turn the car around anyway and headed back to the motel they'd just passed by.

He parked the car and headed in to the front desk first, once he'd gotten a room _and_ the key, he went back to the car, opened Jean's door, picked her up in his arms and carried her over and into the room he'd gotten them for the night. He made a beeline over to the bed and laid Jean out on it before he dropped her; the fact that she hadn't even acknowledged anything happening spoke volumes to him of how tired she had to be. He looked at her lying on the bed completely unresponsive to anything happening around he and thought about what was going to happen during the rest of the night. He went out to the car and brought in some of the stuff from the backseat, and put the top up and locked the car up so nothing happened to the rest of it. After that, he took off his shoes and socks, then slowly undid his tie, and removed his jacket, all the while glancing over at Jean, watching for any small movement, _anything_ that would've indicated she was only playing possum with him, but there was nothing.

He went over to the bed and slipped one arm under Jean's legs and lifted them up so he could pull the covers out from under her and get her tucked in on her side after removing her own shoes and the vest that she'd worn. He also took the liberty of un-tucking her T-shirt from her jeans and undoing the button on the jeans so she could be semi-comfortable during the night. Then when that was done, he went around to the other side of the bed and proceeded to undo the buttons on his dress shirt and slipped it over a chair in the room and then crawled into bed alongside Jean. He shut off the lights and got himself settled under the covers, but found it increasingly difficult to stay there, over on his own side of the bed.

Eventually he gave up, pushed back the covers and moved over to Jean's side of the bed. Even though she wasn't awake and had no idea of what was going on, he wanted to be _with_ her; he ran his hands lightly up and down her shoulders and her arms and then up to her face and felt her cheeks and traced a thumb over her closed lips. With his other hand he stroked through her hair that still felt damp from her shower that afternoon. He buried his knees against the mattress to rise up over her so he had leverage to lean down and kiss her on her forehead, then moved down and kissed her on the cheek, and then down and across slightly and kissed her on the mouth, though there was no response to be gained by the woman laying underneath him. Murdock wrapped his arms around Jean under her back and pressed his body against hers and took the comfort he could in her mere presence. _Not_ how he'd planned for their date to end, least of all not _this_ early into the night, not before they got home to their vacant, private home, but for now it would do.


	9. Chapter 9

Jean opened her eyes and was met with a dark room just light enough to know that it was morning but the sun wasn't up yet. Then she heard some noises in the room and looked around to see what they were, and they realized it was the TV set across from the bed. Right away she knew that this wasn't her room, she tried turning over to see where they were and the first thing she saw was Murdock on his side of the bed dressed in a white undershirt and the dress pants he'd had on the night before, and he had his head propped to the side on one balled up hand as he watched the cartoons showing on TV.

She tried to think back to last night, and in bits and pieces it started to come back to her, but not much. Then it hit her that the reason for that was because their date had been cut short. Her hand started to curl, first she dug her nails into the bed sheet under her, then they curled up into a fist. Her whole body felt weird, foreign, it felt like the circulation had been cut off and recently restored in her hands, if only she could lift her hand high enough to bash herself in the head. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Murdock had figured that Jean would be waking up soon. When he woke up he'd found her sleeping with her arms behind her back, and he could guess they'd both gone to sleep sometime during the night and she just wasn't aware of it yet. So he'd pulled them out from under her and rubbed them a bit to get the blood flowing again; that she had slept through that said plenty about how out of it she was, but he had a feeling that it wouldn't last for long. And apparently it hadn't. He'd done a pretty good job of contenting himself with the early morning reruns of 'Dingbat and the Creeps', and of the new cartoon 'Ghostbusters', and in his opinion the cartoon was better than the live action show done in the 70s. No doubt Tracy the Gorilla was easier to tame when he was just ink and paper.

However, his attention was quickly drawn from that, to the sounds coming from the other side of the bed. Jean was on her side facing away from him, it looked like she was hitting her hands against the mattress beneath her and it sounded like she was half grumbling something to herself.

"Jean, what's the matter?" he asked as he crawled over to her side of the bed.

She wouldn't look at him so he hiked one leg up and pinned her down with it and moved to see her face, and he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach when he realized Jean hadn't been talking to herself, she was crying. He tried getting her to look at him but she wouldn't and even tried to move away from him, so he threw himself down on her and pinned her to the bed so she couldn't get away and once again he found himself rolling on the bed wrestling with her, but this time it was very different, this time there wasn't anything enjoyable about it. He finally managed to roll them both over to the middle of the bed and managed to get Jean so she was facing him, and he grabbed her tight so she couldn't get away from him again.

"What's the matter, hon?" he asked as he reached up with one hand and stroked over her forehead up to the top of her head, trying to get her to calm down.

"I'm sorry, Murdock," was all she was willing to say.

And it left him thoroughly confused. "What've you done to be sorry about?"

Jean couldn't believe it, did he _really_ not know?

"I'm sorry I ruined your plans for our date last night," she said, "I know it meant a lot to you…"

"Hey now wait a minute," Murdock decided he already didn't want to hear any more and he put his hand over her mouth but instead of clamping her mouth shut the end result was more akin to strumming her lips with the flat of his hand. When that seemed to quiet her down he pushed her onto her back and pressed his knees into the mattress on either side of her as he hovered over her and said again, "Now _wait_ just a minute, Jean…" he took his hand away and she started to open her mouth again but he cut her off unexpectedly, telling her a bit forcefully, "_Be quiet_!", and tried to figure out how to make heads or tails of this one.

Meanwhile, Jean was trying to figure out how she was going to explain herself for last night, she knew she couldn't _possibly_ tell Murdock the truth. But as it turned out, she lucked out and didn't have to.

"While it's true last night did _not_ go as planned," Murdock told her, "I _don't_ regret any of it."

Jean didn't say anything but he could see her slightly shaking her head from side to side.

"Look at me," he told her.

She did.

"It's always something, isn't it?" she asked, that familiar 'burnt out' tone returning to her voice, "_Every_ single time we go out, _something_ has to happen to ruin it. Last night _nothing_ happened, there was no Decker, no cops, no _rain_, and leave it to _me_ to blow it."

Murdock tried to brighten up the situation and replied, "All that means is we'll have to try it again, saves me the trouble of coming up with half of the ideas for the next night." It didn't get a response out of her so he patted her arm repeatedly and said, "Hey," to get her attention. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek and said, "Jean, you _can't_ be upset over that."

"Well I am," she replied, and shook her head, "We get one night to ourselves and _I_ ruin it."

Murdock just shrugged, made a small 'eh' sound and quoted, "The best laid plans of mice and men."

"What the hell does that even mean?" Jean asked him.

"I don't know," he answered as he fell down on the bed alongside her, "Have to admit it _is_ catchy though." He stroked over her hair and told her, "Jean, I'm _not_ upset with you."

"And why not?" she asked.

"Because you couldn't help what happened last night, it just happened," he replied, "I know you weren't trying to sabotage our date."

"May as well have," Jean grumbled as she rolled away from him, "You sure made the damnedest choice when you picked your girlfriend."

She didn't even feel a shift in the mattress, out of nowhere she felt two thin but strong arms wrap around her waist and pull her back, and she felt Murdock's chest pressing into her back and his breath on her neck as he told her, "Jean, I _love_ you."

"Yeah," she sneered, "And why would you be stupid enough to do that?"

"Because I know that _you_ love me too," he replied, as though that were the most common fact in the world.

"Funny," she noted, "We could fool most people."

Sometimes there just weren't words to convince someone. Murdock patted her on the head comfortingly and just held her tight and let her feel his presence, let her know that he wasn't going anywhere.

Jean was a hard person to read, which was fine with Murdock because his line of work had given him a lot of experience with people like that over the years; and by now he considered himself pretty good at it. He knew Jean well enough to know that to say she was an emotionally detached person, was incorrect, it was more a matter of when possible she kept herself in check, a defense mechanism; you don't let people know by the expressions on your face what's going through your mind, and usually you lived longer that way. That of course all depended on what kind of people were you dealing with on a daily basis. Hers though, was and had been for a few years, a dangerous daily life. This he understood very well, especially given her association with them, you could never tell who you encountered at any random moment might actually be the enemy looking for any weakness identifiable. It was a hard mask to remove just because you were in company of only people you knew and could trust; and more times than not it forced the others to be _very_ understanding of what was going on to keep a good relationship going between them. He was sure that it wasn't anything that people with military and law enforcement careers didn't go through with their own families when they came home at the end of the day, clocked out from work, but you couldn't punch a clock for your mind and where it was, you took that work home with you whether you realized it or not.

That was one side of it, another one was that Jean was for the most part and all intents and purposes, a very _private_ person. It was no trouble at all to get her talking at any time about nearly any subject, at times it was harder to get her to shut up. But Murdock also knew that there was at least one subject that Jean was not so willing to volunteer any information from: _not_ so much 'that favorite subject – myself'. Bits and pieces of her own background, her own life before meeting them were offered up from time to time, but that had all been _in_ time.

Experimentally, he ran a finger up and down her spine slowly, to see what if any reaction it would get, so far there wasn't any. Also for all intents and purposes, Jean seemed to have tuned herself out from everything around her.

Murdock never doubted that Jean loved him, just as he knew she didn't doubt herself that she loved him, but he knew that she _did_ doubt any ability she possessed to actually show it, it _was_ a subject that had been brought up from time to time. And _that_ indeed _was_ the hard part;_ if_ you only looked at the surface of things, if you never bothered digging beneath the face value of things. He knew it was a hard subject for her to talk about, and he knew many times it was just as hard to hear as it would be to actually say. If he'd been less in tune with the ins and outs of their relationship, if he'd been any one of a hundred denser men that needed it explained to _them_, he knew that she wouldn't be able to do it, because she'd never be able to bring herself to say any of those words.

_So_ she wasn't always good to actually _say_ she loved him. _So_ on several occasions she liked to act like she couldn't stand having him around, and plenty of times she acted like she wasn't interested when he tried to kiss her or tried to get close to her at all. He knew better than that, though. Actions spoke louder than words, that's what everybody said anyway, so there should be _some_ truth to it, and as far as he was concerned, there was, and plenty of it. And it didn't matter much what she did or didn't say to him, the things she'd _done_ spoke volumes to him just how deep in this they were.

The biggest piece of evidence to support this, as far as he was concerned, went back practically to when they first met. The hardest thing a person with trust issues can do _is_ trust, and she had trusted him almost from the beginning; she who for six months had had nobody to trust and even if she had, wouldn't have given them the time of day to find any information that could be used against her later on, had trusted him when he was practically a stranger. Though in time they'd all come to be her friends, there were only two people on the Team she would ever and had ever before, willingly purged her soul to; Hannibal obviously since he had that fatherly effect on all of them that they could always come to him with their problems, but long before that had happened, _he'd_ been the first, the first and for a while the _only_ person she trusted enough to get close to at all. That in itself, that which might appear so microscopic, so minute, to anyone else who didn't get it and might seem irrelevant, said more to him than anything she could ever have told him would've. And even now, he was still the first person and often times the only person she would come to about any matter she wouldn't give another person the time of day about.

It was easier for someone like him to be open and openly affectionate, he was an uninhibited person, always had been; never had _any_ trouble saying exactly what was on his mind even in his sappier moments, would think nothing of getting right on top of someone and hugging or kissing them in public, no matter who stared or thought he was nuts, _even_ when it was his own men thinking that. If Jean ever _had_ been that way, or even a slightly more refined version of it, he didn't know, but it was obvious she sure wasn't now; and for some reason he found himself flashing on his original question to her of what the hell her parents had done to her. Though he was sure, whatever caused this, if something actually _did_ and it wasn't inborn in her, _wasn't_ her folks' doing.

He reached around her and curled her hand in his to see how or if she responded to the touch, this time she did, he could feel her grip squeezing his in return.

"Jean, it was just one date, it's not important," Murdock told her.

He felt something bump against his chest as Jean let out a singular, humorless laugh as she replied, "Was to _you_."

He laid his head against her shoulder and remarked, "Not _really_." _That_ got her attention, she lifted her head and turned to look back towards him and he explained, "Sure it's nice having a night away from everything and everybody, get to switch things up a bit, but for the most part? I like it better when we stay home for the night and it's just the two of us, no Faceman, no Big Guy, no Hannibal sticking his nose into everything, _no_ annoying phone calls, _no_ Decker come busting in, just you and me and a great big house all to ourselves. Like all those rainy nights over the winter when we heated up a couple cans of spaghetti and had a late dinner watching an old murder mystery on TV and wondered every time the room lit up if the power was gonna go out. And remember the times when it did, and the house got cold so we got wrapped up in one of those heavy blankets and made like a couple of Alaskans?" To emphasize at the last part, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him again and just grinned as she let out a startled yelp and laugh.

"Or," he added, "How bout the times when it _really_ got cold when the heater went out, so we piled the heavy covers on the bed and burrowed under them like a couple of spooked kids during a thunderstorm?"

Jean laughed and remarked, "Yes, I remember fondly having a warm spot to press my cold feet into, _too bad_ you jumped."

"Well," he replied sheepishly, "If you would've cut your toenails…"

Jean continued to laugh and latched a hand onto one of the arms around her and said, "Okay, you made your point."

"Good," Murdock kissed her and let go of her, "Maybe now you'll want the stuff you got last night."

"Hm?" Jean asked him, and followed his finger in the direction he was pointing and saw the flowers, box of chocolates, candy cigarettes, chewing gum, teddy bear and bottles of liquor, perfume and bubble bath and asked, "We get married again and I didn't know it?"

Murdock just chuckled and told her, "Come on."

* * *

"Lot of stuff for something that didn't mean that much to you," Jean told Murdock during the drive back to her house.

Murdock just shrugged and explained, "_Getting_ it didn't mean much, being able to surprise you, _that_ was the main thing."

"Yeah well, I'm surprised," Jean said a little unenthusiastically as she picked up a large bottle of perfume and got a whiff of it. Not her brand of choice, but not a bad second either; it still smelt a hell of a lot better than that cologne Face always wore.

"Do you think the others are going to be at the house waiting for us?" she asked him.

Murdock shook his head, "No, I made sure we had the place to ourselves last night."

"Another best laid plan for the rats," Jean commented.

"Oh well," Murdock replied.

They finally reached her house and made a few trips carting everything in from the car, and all of it was promptly dumped on the dining room table to be sorted through later. Murdock went to pick up the phone to call Hannibal and see what was up for the day, and he started laughing.

"What is it?" Jean asked.

Murdock held up the little gray phone wire that had been pulled out of the phone the previous night, "Hannibal, _always_ thinking ahead." He stuck it back in the hole and when he got a dial tone, he dialed the number of their house.

"Morning, Colonel," he said into the receiver, "What's happening? Ah…well no, we're just getting in…" he rolled his eyes and said, "It's a long story…uh huh…uh huh…" he pulled the receiver away from his ear, and then held it close again, as if he was trying to hear something in the background, and half quietly he said into the phone, "Eh Colonel, would you mind giving Faceman a little _elbow_ for me?" he asked as he gestured such himself. "Uh huh…" he turned to Jean and said, "I don't know, maybe half an hour…alright, we'll be there, bye-bye."

"What was that all about?" Jean asked.

"Once we have a chance to eat and get changed, Hannibal wants us to come over," Murdock explained.

"What for this time?" she asked.

* * *

"We're going to take a gamble that this job _is_ legit and not just one of Decker's traps," Hannibal said.

"How come?" Jean asked.

"Simply because," Hannibal answered, "He's not _smart_ enough to come up with something this elaborate. Now, if we're going to be keeping an eye on Miss Faith, it'll be a good idea to have a cover house where we can all lay low for a while."

"Because of one psycho ex?" Jean asked him.

"She's a very public figure coming to the city for a concert," Hannibal explained, "Her ex could just be the tip of the iceberg, and why would we want to take any chances?"

"Good point," Murdock said.

"And we're not going to wait until she gets to town to find a place to stay," Hannibal said, "Because on the off chance that she would be trying to set us up, we need to know the entire layout, every single in and out of the house, we need to know every square inch, we need to know who the neighbors are, _everything_."

"Heh," Jean snickered, "There goes the neighborhood."

"Face has managed to come up with a few possibilities that are currently open to rent," Hannibal said.

"So while you guys are running background checks on this Stevi Faith and her manager, he and Murdock are going to head over and decide which place will be most likely?" Jean asked.

"No," Hannibal answered, "_You_ are."

"What?" she asked.

"Hannibal!" Face whined, "Why do I have to take _her_ with me?"

Hannibal very calmly went over to Face and put his hand on the Lieutenant's shoulder and asked him, "Face, do you remember that time the policeman came to our motel room and Murdock dressed up as your wife?"

"Yeah," Face nodded, a look of dread automatically on his face.

"Would you like to try that again?" he asked.

He swallowed hard and answered, "No."

"Well then you need someone to go with you who can pose as your wife," Hannibal told him, "It'll draw less suspicion that way _and_ it'll work if you tell the realtor that you need a house with _plenty_ of room for when _her_ family comes to visit."

Face looked like he would've rather sat naked with a king cobra than do _that_, but he knew he didn't have a choice.

"Jean," Hannibal turned to her, "Try not to kill him."

"You know how to take the fun out of everything," she sarcastically remarked.

* * *

Jean slammed the door to Face's 'Vette shut and said, "Let's see if we can't get done with this one soon and _hopefully_ it'll be the last one we have to look at, I _want_ to get lunch."

"You and your stomach," Face remarked as they headed up the sidewalk, keeping a considerable distance from each other.

"Not my fault," Jean said.

"Oh no," he shook his head, "You're all skin and bones…with about three layers of _fat_ on top."

Jean spun on her heel and glared at him, saying, "Better than being one of those twig seat cushions you're always running around with. I'd sure hate to have to count on any of them for any assistance in an emergency."

Face just shook his head and grumbled something to himself. He watched Jean walk up the porch steps and asked, "And _why_ did you have to come along dressed like _that_?", indicating the worn out denim work clothes she'd come along in.

"There's going to be five people staying in the house, we need a house with five accessible bedrooms," Jean said, "I figured the realtor would be more inclined to help us find just that once they heard I need one for my studio."

Face shook his head, "That's _not_ what you wear when you work in a _studio_, _that's_ what you wear when you work in a _garage_."

"Did I say _what_ kind of studio?" Jean replied, "I don't know what you're in a bad mood for anyway, it's _your_ fault we're still here."

"_My_ fault?" Face asked.

"Yes," Jean said as she snatched the key from him that the realtor had given them and took it over to the door, "We've been in 10 neighborhoods, looked through 16 houses _all_ of which come _already_ furnished, the last 5 of which _all_ had five bedrooms, but _you_ just had to blow it by insisting there had to be another bathroom."

"Well excuse me," Face said as he walked up behind her, "But if I'm going to be on my best appearance that is essential to my scams working as flawlessly as they do, I _cannot_ be cramming my way in between four other people to the bathroom sink."

"You are the _only_ high maintenance man I've ever seen, and you're worse than the 10 highest maintenance women in the world," Jean said as she got the door open and they headed in.

"Not that you'd know any of them personally _of course_," Face remarked.

"Sure I would," Jean said, "All I'd have to do is flip through your little black book and file under the 'plastic' section."

"You're a _real_ piece of work, you know that?" Face asked as he kicked the door shut behind him.

"Thank you," she said.

"Come on," he told her, "There's a basement in this house, we need to check it out."

They went to the back of the house and looked over the kitchen, the downstairs bathroom, the back pantry, and found the door leading to the basement. They headed down the stairs and found the basement that looked like a shelter room. The place had been furnished with a small cot bed, a few folding chairs, and there were rows of large boxes pushed up against one wall.

"What the hell is this?" Jean asked.

"Well I'm _sure_ you're aware that California is subject to tornadoes _just_ like the rest of the country, _including_ Rot Gut, New York," Face remarked condescendingly.

"Why the hell would anybody off and leave all this stuff behind?" she asked.

"They're a necessity in _any_ house," Face said, "Supplies for tornadoes, power outages, earthquakes, floods, you name it."

"And in _times_ of crisis, it all becomes more valuable than cash, so you'd have to be an idiot to leave it all behind for the likes of us to rent," Jean noted.

"Boy, if you couldn't find anything to complain about you'd just be lost, wouldn't you?" Face asked her.

She looked to him and said, "I'm inclined to say the same thing about you, except you don't stop at just complaining, you also _whine_."

"_Whine_?!" he repeated in disbelief, proving her point.

"Yes you do, _whine_ like a little brat that needs his butt whooped," Jean said, then turned and went to check out the rest of the room.

"You know it still blows my mind what Murdock _ever_ saw in you," Face told her.

Jean turned on her heel and answered point blank, "Because he's not interested in a quick fix fling like you are, he's looking for a steady, reliable relationship, something that _you_ clearly wouldn't know _anything_ about."

"And _what_ is that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"Oh come off it, Face," Jean told him, "All the women you take out are interchangeable, none of them have anything to offer that another one doesn't, there's nothing to differentiate between any of them and there's a reason for that. Every single time you take one of those perky bubble headed blondes out, it's to a fancy dinner with expensive wine and afterwards to some place dimly lit with slow soft music and _always_ back to your place and we all know _why_. And they're always the same, low cut knockout dress, high heels, long flowing blonde hair, a perfect tan, long painted nails, long gaudy black eyelashes, bright red lips, decked out like a peacock in shiny jewelry, you don't have _any_ idea what any of your dates look like when they take their faces off. You'd _never_ take out a homey woman in blue jeans with dirt under her nails and her hair undone, you'd _never_ just take a date out for hot dogs and a couple of beers and a kiss goodnight, it's not who you are and _everybody_ knows it, even yourself who won't admit it and like to think that you're the same to _all_ women, well you're _not;_ _only_ to the thinnest, blondest, perkiest, _dumbest_ ones who are satisfied with a little smooth talk and a lot of expensive champagne. If you ever tried having a _real_ relationship with a _real_ woman you'd fall flat on your face _and_ you know it."

Face was so dumbstruck by her outburst that he didn't even know _how_ to respond, so for the moment he chose not to. A moot point because a few seconds later, the ground beneath them was shaking and so was everything else in the room.

* * *

"What the hell was that?" Jean asked when the excitement had died down and they got up from the floor.

"Oh really Jean, you've been in Los Angeles for over a year and you don't know what an earthquake is?" Face asked.

"I've never been _in_ one that was strong enough to actually feel," she explained, "Earthquakes are like strokes, so many of them occur that are too weak to actually notice."

Face got up and dusted himself off and looked around the room to see if they'd come close to having anything big and pointy falling on their heads. They lucked out. Everything got rattled but nothing actually fell over. He went up the stairs and found that the door was closed, he tried turning the knob but the door wouldn't budge.

"Oh great," he grumbled.

"What is it?" Jean called up the stairs.

"The door's stuck," he huffed and puffed after trying it a couple more times, "The wood must be warped."

"Oh _great_," Jean parroted, "_Now_ how are we going to get out of here?"

Face came back down the stairs and said, "Maybe there's a window down here."

Jean shook her head and said, "You just _had_ to tell the realtor 'go to lunch, we'll meet you there', didn't you?"

Face ran the back of his hand across his face to keep the sweat from running into his eyeballs, "Give me a break, Jean, will ya?"

"Now nobody knows we're here," Jean told him, "And nobody's even going to know _where_ to look for us."

"And I suppose that's _my_ fault?" Face asked.

"Let's face it, for Special Forces you certainly have your fair share of moments when you seem to be lacking in intelligence," Jean said as she sat down in one of the folding chairs, "Blonde moments for the blonde."

Face clenched his teeth and his hands and restrained himself, he turned to her and said, "Well I'd like to know why if you hate us so much you're still here."

"Who said anything about _all_ of you? It's just _you_ I can't stand," she replied.

"Oh yeah?" he felt something rising up in his throat and he felt like a mountain lion getting ready to pounce and kill, "Because you think you're _so_ much better than I am, is that it? Well you're not. You're _worse_ than anything I could ever hope to be because you're a murderer!"

That should've been the final straw. In any other person that would've gotten a shocked, perhaps violent reaction. Not Jean. She lightly pressed her feet against the floor and leaned forward in her chair and looked at him.

"You killed in combat, don't try to deny it," Jean said, "They don't give you those medals for holding hands with the Cong soldiers, _same_ as Decker."

Ooh, if ever he had been tempted to knock a woman flat, _this_ was definitely it. "Don't you _dare_ compare _me_ to Decker."

"Why, because he's a Colonel and you're just a Lieutenant?" she asked.

"Because that man is a psychopath, the same as _you_!" Face told her, "Once we got you back to New York our work involving you was _done_, was _finished_! But no, you just _had_ to come back, just _had_ to find us, didn't you? You should've stayed in New York where you belong, with all the rest of the _freaks_ and psychos, then you wouldn't be here messing up _our_ lives. Murdock could do better than you any day of the week, and he deserves better as well. I could come up with 10 different women in the fields of dental assistance, veterinary medicine, even _waitresses_ who would be better suited for him than _you_ are because at least _they_ are civilized and know how to be _nice_ to people! You tricked him into marrying you the first time so he felt obligated to make it official, why don't you just go back to New York and _leave him alone_?!"

He turned away as soon as the last word came out, and he expected her usual barrage of verbal abuse in response. He was too busy fuming to notice the eerie silence that followed immediately afterward, and then…

A small sound filled the room like a gunshot and it made his blood turn cold.

He turned around to face Jean, who was still seated in the chair, her arms wrapped around herself, her head down, her chin tucked into her chest, her knees raised slightly as if she was trying to curl into a ball and disappear. But the sound was unmistakable, and there it was again. A small choking sound that was trapped in her throat.

Oh no you don't, Face thought to himself, his mind was screaming with the words but for some reason they just wouldn't surface to his mouth: No you don't, you don't get to do that to me, you _don't_ get to heap your abuse on me and then fall apart on me like any _other_ woman. Shut up, shut up! Why now? Why _now_ when you're supposed to be a brick wall that nothing affects, do you have to do _this_ and go to pieces like any regular woman? That's _not_ what you do!

However his anger soon gave way to another feeling that he was more familiar with than he liked to be. His stomach felt like it was tying itself into naval knots and he didn't know what to do. He could honestly say that he felt worse _now_ than he had the time he'd momentarily lost his head and hit Jean, what were the odds? Maybe she _hadn't_ been completely wrong in what she'd said about him and women, but it made him sick to see _any_ woman cry. And perhaps it was harder seeing Jean like this because he knew she never _was_ like this. Irony of all ironies, just when he needed her to be her usual unaffected self that nothing could faze and his insults bounced off of her like tennis balls, the shield came down and she became very _normal_, and that scared him.

Awkwardly, he walked back over to her and said, trying to come up with the right words, "Ah geez, I'm sorry, Jean…I didn't mean it," he risked putting a hand on her shoulder and when she didn't bite it off he kept it there for leverage and added, "I know you wouldn't do that to Murdock, I know that you two are good for each other."

Jean groaned and grimaced and shook her head and told him, "It's not that…"

"What, then?" he asked, completely and thoroughly confused out of his mind.

A series of small choking whimpering sounds came up from her throat and she explained, "I want to die…my head…"

And then it all clicked.

"How long…" he started to ask.

"About an hour," she managed to get through her clenched teeth.

"Ah geez, I'm sorry, I didn't know," he said.

"Of course you didn't," Jean slowly shook her head, "That's the whole point, _nobody_ knows…if _anybody_ knew how often I _really_ get these migraines, _nobody_ would want me around, not Murdock, not Hannibal, not anyone."

"Haven't you tried those pills for migraines?" Face asked.

"Of _course_ I tried them," she said, "I did it when you all were gone on a job and nobody would have to know if they failed, they did…they didn't work, all they did was make me throw up. I'm stuck like this…if Murdock knew last night…"

"Last night?" Face repeated, "_What_ about last night?"

"After dinner my head started hurting again…and by the time we left the roller rink it felt ready to explode…every place we went to I kept ducking into the bathroom to swallow more pills so he didn't have to know. I couldn't _tell_ him, and ruin our date, when it meant so much to him? Or I _thought_ it did anyway. And then when we were in the car I just kept thinking 'if only I could go to sleep', and I did, and I ruined our date anyway."

And of _course_, she wouldn't have any pills with her this morning because she wouldn't have figured she'd get headaches back to back like this. Face considered what few options they had right now. They were stuck in a basement with no way out, nobody knew _where_ they were and nobody who _did_ know would even be looking for them for a while. He went over to the boxes on the far wall and opened a few to see if it _was_ emergency supplies if there were any painkillers stashed away. There weren't any, whoever had left this house had left the cellar supplied with jugs of water and canned food and extra clothing and bandages, but no ibuprofen, no Tylenol, not even a damn aspirin. He grabbed Jean by the arm and pulled her to her feet and told her, "Come on, come over here."

He went over to the cot in the middle of the room and sat down on it first to make sure it wouldn't collapse under his own weight, and when it held him, he pulled Jean down to lie on top of him since he figured he'd be a little softer to rest on than this thin sandpaper mattress beneath him. A small groan escaped him as he tried to think how many times this was now that he had either gone to bed with or woken up with his best friend's girl, now how was that for irony? He reached around and patted her under her neck and told her, "Just take it easy, close your eyes, try to get some rest," Jean breathed and let out another small sob and several groaning whimpers. He tried to assure her, "It'll be alright, just calm down, try to sleep." Right now it was the _only_ thing that _could_ be done to help her. But he _hoped_ the others found out where they were soon and got them out of there.

* * *

When two hours had passed and there hadn't been any word from Face, Hannibal hadn't been worried; after the earthquake hit and it became three hours, then he knew something was wrong. He called the car phone of the 'Vette' _and_ tried the radio, no answer. He had B.A. check out _where_ the tracking device he'd put _in_ the car just incase of such an emergency, showed up on radar and found they were still on the street for the last house listed. On their way there, they found out that the realtor who was supposed to meet up with them to show them the house had been involved in a two-car collision and after being interviewed at the scene by police, was taken to the hospital for treatment of minor injuries sustained in the crash; ironically a saving grace for them so they could get to the house first and find out what was going on.

They found the 'Vette unattended at the curb of the house that had been on Face's list to check out. They found the door unlocked and showed themselves in and turned the place inside out looking for them. After searching every room on the ground floor and second floor, _and_ all around the yard just to make sure, they found the basement door at the far back of the house, and Hannibal couldn't get it to budge either, so he left it to B.A. who got the door open with one punch.

"Faceman, you down there?" Murdock called as they headed down the stairs single file.

They heard a low grumbling and when they came to the bottom of the stairs they saw Face and Jean asleep on the cot, a sight that on a good day would be shocking in and of itself. Hannibal was the first to make his way over to them and at first glance it didn't look like either of them had been injured during the quake, he reached down and shook Face's shoulder to rouse him.

"Face, you alright?" he asked.

One eye opened, and then shut again, and then they both opened up, and as he tried to figure out where he was and what was going on, the first coherent words out of his mouth were, "Head, her head…"

"Something fall on her?" Hannibal asked.

"No," Face said in a strained voice as he started to come around, "No, just another migraine."

"B.A.," Hannibal said, "Get her out of here."

"Right, Hannibal," B.A. came over to them and carefully lifted Jean up off of Face and carried her up the stairs.

"You alright, Faceman?" Murdock asked as he and Hannibal helped him to his feet.

"Uh…" he thought about it, "Yeah…" Physically anyway. But he knew he'd have a lifetime to remember what he'd said in the heat of the moment, and he prayed that the near hysterical pain Jean had suffered blocked the memories from her own mind. They were by no means on the closest terms with one another, but he knew the they'd both willingly take a bullet for the other, and that was what mattered.

"Well what do you think, Face?" Hannibal asked, "Will this house suffice?"

"Well," he thought about it, "There're five bedrooms, two and a half baths…and if anybody tries breaking in we can just lock them in the basement and they'll _never_ get out…I think it could be a keeper."

"Fine," Hannibal said, "Then let's get to the hospital and tell the realtor that we'll take it."

"The hospital?" Face repeated.

"Sure, and while we're there you can work your little magic to get something strong for Jean's head," he replied.

* * *

While B.A. waited for the others to come out, he got Jean settled in the backseat of the van and found the first aid kit they kept on hand and dug out a bottle of painkillers and got her to swallow a couple. She didn't say much, just grumbled and murmured something incoherent.

"How ya doing, mama?" he asked, pressing a thumb against the corner of her eyelid to force it open a bit.

She looked at him through one eye and grumbled something else, then closed her eye and slumped her head down.

"How's she doing, Big Guy?" Murdock asked as he jumped over the porch steps and made his way back to the van.

"Not good, fool," B.A. answered.

Face was right behind Murdock, and he got past the Captain and was the first one to the van to see for himself. He leaned in for a minute and asked her, "How're you doing, Jean?"

She got out a low moan and said, never opening her eyes, "Shoot me…just shoot me."

Grim though it was, he knew her well enough to know that that _was_ an improvement. Before he went back to the 'Vette though, he had to ask her, "What do you remember, Jean?"

"Hmmm?" she forced her eyes open this time and looked at him and said, "Remember?"

"When we were in the basement, do you remember?" he asked.

"Remember…remember…I remember…the earthquake…then being carried out here…"

Face let out a small but heavy sigh of relief, she _didn't_ remember, and hopefully she wouldn't.

"Alright, let's get out of here," Hannibal said as he brought up the rear, "Next stop, the hospital."

"Hospital?" Jean parroted.

"Yeah, didn't you hear?" he asked her, "We're taking the house."

Murdock climbed in alongside Jean and lightly squeezed her hand, "Don't you worry, hon, we're gonna stop off at the hospital and pick up some high power meds and get you fixed right up, I give you my word as a mental patient."

B.A. looked at them in the rear view mirror and asked, "Hey Murdock, you trying to scare her or something?"

Jean groaned as she leaned to the side and pressed her face against Murdock's jacket to block out the light. Hannibal got in the front with B.A. and Face went back to his own car to follow after them.

"Alright, B.A.," Hannibal said, "Let's roll out."


	10. Chapter 10

"Any word on that quake?" Face asked as he passed by Hannibal and B.A. in the hall.

"If I had to guess," Hannibal said, "I'd guess about a 5.5 on the Richter scale."

"You read earthquakes?" Face asked.

"I've lived in a fair share of them," he replied.

Face nodded but it was clear from the look on his face that he thought Hannibal was nuts, and he headed up the stairs and into Jean's room, where she lay on the bed with an icepack wrapped in a towel on her forehead.

"Alright Jean, here ya go," he said as he handed her a bottle of pills and a soda can, "You said _cherry_ coke, right?"

"Yeah," she murmured as she sat up and took them from him. She felt the bottle and shook it, it sounded about empty.

Face shrugged, "Sorry, the hospital's running on empty."

"Nothing new there," Jean said as she opened the bottle and took a couple pills, "California's becoming the junkie capital of the world."

"It's not that," Face started to say, but before he went into that he wanted to get the air cleared between them, "Jean, are you sure you don't remember what happened after the earthquake?"

"I keep telling you, no I don't remember, why do you keep asking me that?" Jean asked, "_What_ happened after the earthquake?"

He couldn't bear to tell her the truth, not the _full_ truth anyway. "We had a fight."

"So we had a fight, so what?" she asked, "We _always_ fight, it's _what_ we _do_, it's what we've always done, it's that sibling rivalry relationship Murdock's always going on about, that's what we do."

Oh if only he knew for sure that she'd feel the same way about it if she actually remembered the fight.

"Well, anyway," he said, clearing his throat, "It got a little heated and…I just wanted to apologize."

Jean opened her eyes a little wider and remarked, "You apologize? No wonder we had an earthquake."

"How's your head?" he asked.

She shook her head, "Still killing me…what was that you were saying about the hospital?"

"Oh yeah, that, well, apparently…"

Before he could get another word out, they both heard a loud groaning and a minute later Murdock came in also with an icepack on his head.

"What happened to you?" Jean asked.

"Your headache's contagious, now _I_ got it," he said as he went over and collapsed on the other side of the bed.

"That's what I was trying to tell you," Face said, "Apparently it's something going around, that's why the hospital's low on pain medication. It's broken into two groups, people either get minor headaches every day for a whole week, or they get one or two major cases and then it's over."

"So there's a chance this isn't my _typical_ migraine," Jean said quietly, "Thank God for small favors." Then she handed the bottle and her soda can over to Murdock, who took the pills gladly.

In a short amount of time they were both asleep and looked like a set of twins laying alongside each other on the bed, both wearing an icepack.

Hannibal observed this from where he stood at the doorway and commented, "Even when they're in agony they look cute together, what're the odds?"

Face turned around and looked to Hannibal, the look on his face saying what he couldn't at that moment.

"What's the matter, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"Hannibal," Face went over to him, "Something happened before you guys found us today."

"And?" Hannibal asked in his 'judgment reserved until further notice' tone, sounding like he already knew something was up.

Face shook his head, "I didn't know she was sick…"

"Did you hit her again?" Hannibal inquired, the tone of his voice sounding like he already knew that wasn't the case.

"Worse," Face said, "I got mad and I started yelling at her, and I said some things I wish to God I hadn't."

Hannibal shrugged dismissively, "You two are always screaming at each other, that's nothing new."

"Oh…this was," Face told him, "She says she doesn't remember it, I'm hoping that it's true…I don't even know _why_ I said what I did…I just…"

Hannibal reached over and clapped a hand on Face's shoulder assuredly and quoted, " 'I couldn't be jealous of one of them without being jealous of _both_ of them'."

Face let out a huffed sigh and replied hesitantly, "I suppose so."

Hannibal lightly squeezed his shoulder and told him, "It happens."

Face looked at him and asked, "What if she remembers?"

"Take it from someone who knows," Hannibal said, "You're not the first one to put your foot in your mouth where she's concerned, and she knows how to hurt back when she has a mind to, but it all passes."

"With _her_ maybe, but if Murdock finds out…"

Hannibal shook his head, "Murdock wouldn't hold anything against you, you know that, you two have been friends for too long. Unfortunately for Jean, I seriously doubt that Murdock's bond with her is _that_ strong."

* * *

By the time the pills wore off and the Captain and honorary corporal woke up, it was night and their headaches were gone but they were still lethargic so they opted to spend the night in bed watching an old movie on TV, one of Buster Keaton's sound films with Jimmy Durante. By the time the movie was over they'd both laughed themselves sick.

"You know," Jean finally said when she was able to take in enough air, "No matter how many times you watch Buster's talking pictures, he never sounds like what you expect him to sound like."

"What do you expect him to sound like?" Murdock asked.

"I don't know, but not _that_," she replied.

Murdock got on his hands and knees and crawled over to her side of the bed and collapsed beside her laughing, "It sure was funny though."

"Talking Buster is definitely different from silent Buster but they both have their advantages. Now _that_," Jean pointed to the TV screen, "_That's_ what Hollywood ought to be using $40 million budgets to come up with _now_, but they're too lazy and too stupid to even bother trying."

Murdock went digging through all the odds and ends scattered over the lid of Jean's trunk and kept digging until he found what he was looking for, Jean's engagement Captain Midnight decoder ring badge.

"Now promise me," he said as he handed it to her, "That when we leave you'll keep this with you at all times _and_ use it if you get in trouble."

"I _promise_," Jean said mockingly as she raised her right hand.

"Show me your left hand," Murdock said.

She did.

"Now uncross your toes," he added.

Jean just giggled in response.

"I mean it," he told her, "I don't want anything happening to you while we're gone and I don't know it."

"Oh come on, Murdock," Jean said, "What could possibly happen?"

* * *

"Hannibal got a call from Stevi's manager this morning," Face told Jean as he followed her over to the ice cream vendor at the edge of the park that the three of them had decided to occupy for a short while before lunch, "In between the bad weather in the Midwest affecting some of the roads and bridges, and Stevi's increasing paranoia, he has been zigzagging all up and down every back alley and secondary road between Tallahassee and Oklahoma City, even going around in circles on occasion just incase they'd wind up being followed. So it sounds like we've bought a couple extra days before her royal weirdness arrives."

"Well that's fine with me," Jean said as she handed some money to the vendor and took three ice cream bars, "Maybe we'll get lucky and her ex boyfriend, whoever he is, will turn in front of a gasoline tanker and get blown to a million billion pieces and you won't even _have_ to watch her."

They went back into the park to find Murdock but, to nobody's surprise, he wasn't where they'd last seen him.

"Alright, where'd he go now?" Jean asked as she started looking around.

"Uh oh," Face said, "Look!"

Jean did and saw a group of kids gathered over by the swing set, and one of the swings had been tossed up and around the bar so the chains had been considerably shortened so the swing only hung about a foot from the top, and _in_ the swing with it pressing against his upper torso like a harness as he zipped back and forth on it was…

"Murdock!" Jean yelled in surprise as she and Face ran over to the swing set to see what the hell was going on.

"What're you doing up there?" Face asked him.

At first they couldn't hear anything coherent over Murdock's excited little 'wheeee!' noises, but then they heard him bellowing down to them, "I'm 'bout to break the world record guys, watch this!"

"Get down from there!" Face told him, "You're gonna hurt yourself!"

"Impossible, Faceman!" Murdock replied, "After all the crashes I've walked away from, this is nothing!"

"Murdock!" Face started to yell, but was cut off by Jean kicking him.

"Here, hold this," she said as she handed him one of the three ice cream bars, then she took a couple steps closer to the swing set and told him, "Alright, Murdock, that's just _fine_, _you_ stay up there, and _I'm_…gonna eat your ice cream."

"Don't you dare!" Murdock called down to her.

Jean peeled the wrapper off and raised the ice cream bar to her lips and opened her mouth wide, opening it wider, wider, still wider, almost biting down on the top of the chocolate coated shell. Murdock sighed and on the next push forward threw himself out of the swing, flipped over and landed on his feet like a cat. After which he promptly marched over to Jean, who turned and held the ice cream as far away from his reach as was possible.

"Gimme, gimme," he said trying to reach around her, "Gimme my ice cream bar."

Jean laughed and turned one way and then the other before finally giving in and handing it to him.

"So since it'll be a little longer until we become Stevi's bodyguards and we pretty much have the afternoon to ourselves," Face said, "What do you guys have planned?"

Murdock and Jean looked at each other and then to Face and Murdock said, "Well actually, I figured that maybe _today_ we could make up for the time lost on our date, start earlier in the day."

"Sounds like an idea," Face said, "Got anything in mind?"

"Yeah, but nothing you're old enough to hear," Jean replied.

* * *

Once Face returned to the Team's house, he found Hannibal and B.A. in the middle of another one of Hannibal's plans.

"Hannibal, don't you think this is all a bit much?" Face asked as he looked over the diagrams of what was to take place once Stevi arrived.

"Face, this is a high profile case," Hannibal said, "Rock stars are just as likely targets for assassins as politicians are."

"Oh come on, Hannibal, that can't be true," Face remarked, "People _like_ rock stars."

"_Anyway_," Hannibal said, "We need a place to meet them at to pick Stevi up and take her out in a place that's going to be easy to get in _and_ out of…and it's got to be a place with enough room for us to leave in two vehicles."

"Uh Hannibal," Face raised his hand, "Shouldn't we wait until Murdock's here to discuss the plan?"

"At this stage that won't be necessary," Hannibal told him, "Because the first order of business is we need you to find us two cars that are the exact same makes and models."

"Twin cars?" Face asked, "Why?"

"_Because_," Hannibal said, "To throw off anybody that might tail us, one car is officially going to go out the main way, that's the decoy, when the real car with Stevi in it is going to take a back way out unseen, to get to our safe house."

Face shrugged but said, "Alright, what _kind_ of car?"

"Something _not_ compact," Hannibal said, "Noticeable but _not_ flashy, we don't want to be _too_ obvious."

"Of course not, we _wouldn't_ want that," Face said condescendingly, then snapped his fingers, "I know, _noticeable_, why don't we get a couple of white cars, and then we put a strip of colored tape down the side to give it a stripe? That's not _flashy_ but it _does_ draw attention."

Hannibal looked at him like he thought the Lieutenant had lost his mind, "Oh really, Face, why would _anybody_ do that?"

Face just shrugged helplessly.

The phone rang and Hannibal went to answer it, momentarily drawing their discussion to a halt.

"Hello?" he asked, "Hey Murdock, what's hap—" he was cut off in midsentence by whatever the pilot was saying on the other end, "What? Murdock calm down, _what_ happened? You _what_? You're _where_?" Hannibal was just about frantic himself as he forced himself to remain calm or at least sound the part as he told the Captain, "Alright, Murdock, just take it easy, we'll be _right_ there."

"What was that about?" Face asked as Hannibal hung up.

"I couldn't get the details out of him," Hannibal said, "All he said was that they were in an accident and Jean's in the hospital."

* * *

Hannibal, Face and B.A. about broke the automatic doors down getting into the hospital and rushing over to the front desk to find out what room Jean was in and what had happened. They spent about 30 seconds all talking over each other with the administration nurse when they saw Murdock right around the corner and went over to him, and saw he and Jean were arguing standing on either side of a wheelchair. Jean saw the other three men coming their way and she slapped Murdock's arm and yelled at him, "_Why_ did you call them!?"

"What's going on? What happened?" Hannibal asked as they went over to them, "Jean are you alright?"

"Hannibal, I'm sorry you made the trip for nothing," Jean said, "I'm fine, it's nothing serious, I'm getting checked out _right now_."

"Well what happened?" B.A. asked.

"You wouldn't believe it," she said, and to Hannibal she explained, "We went to this amusement park and you know that ride the Zipper? The one where the cars go up and they all tilt back and forth and back and forth and back…"

She moved her hand back and forth in time with the words, and Face started to feel seasick so he clamped his hand over hers and told her, "Don't do that."

"Well anyway," Jean said, "We got on it, and they closed the door, started the ride up, we started going up and the car started tilting, and you know those things are about 30 feet tall at the very top? We got about 20 feet up when the car suddenly shifted forward, the door _flew_ open and I fell out. I look up, and Murdock's _jumping_ out of it, of _course_ he makes a better landing than I do."

"How the hell did that happen?" Face asked, "They're supposed to _lock_ those cages."

"Yeah well," Jean shrugged, "Apparently the lock didn't hold."

"How badly were you hurt?" Hannibal asked.

"Landed on my back," Jean said, "But the doctors did the x-rays, nothing wrong with it, just sore from the impact, he said I _really_ lucked out since nothing broke."

"But are you sure it's alright for you to leave?" Face asked.

"Oh sure, they can't have _me_ taking up a bed in a private room," Jean said, "They've got _real_ patients coming in."

Hannibal looked her over from top, down to her feet, and he noticed that for having just been such an unusual and he would wager, frightening ordeal, she wasn't shaky at all.

"You sure you're alright, kid?" he asked.

She nodded, though he noticed her breathing was different, trying not to let out any noises of pain, "Yeah I'm fine, now can we just get out of here? One thing about it, this has been one _lousy_ week for trying to have a date."

"What is it they say about Murphy's Law?" Face asked on the way out, "Anything that can go wrong will?"

"Yeah well if I ever find Murphy," Jean said as they left the hospital, "I'm going to beat him to death with my shoe."

* * *

"I _still_ say you ought to sue the amusement park," Face told Jean as he and Murdock were getting her settled onto the bed facedown so Murdock could put some analgesic cream on her back.

"Now why would I be stupid enough to do that?" Jean let out an exhaling groan as she made contact with the mattress beneath her.

"Because, either it was gross negligence on the part of the worker who shut you in, or there's something wrong with that cage, and either way you ought to be compensated for it _and_ the public ought to find out what they did."

"I don't _need_ to sue them for that," Jean said, "50 people saw me fall out of that car, that's counting the people who were in the ones _beneath_ us. They already have _enough_ bad publicity from that. I'm not going to waste my time suing them."

"Why not?" Face wanted to know.

"Because, oof," Jean hissed as she felt her shirt being pulled up in the back, "First of all I don't have the money or the time to waste on a lawyer _or_ on a lawsuit. Secondly, the whole point _of_ suing someone for injuries sustained is so you're compensated for your medical bills, I don't _have_ medical bills."

"Well not _now_ no," Face replied, "But who's to say in a couple months you won't suffer…"

Jean pulled her head up and glared at him and made it clear, "I-said-_no_."

"Well you might as well," Face told her, "As many trips as you _do_ make to the hospital it'd be nice if somebody else had to foot the bill on them."

Jean squirmed and yelped as she felt the cold ice gel being applied to her already tender back, "That's borrowing trouble, if I tried that then something else _would_ happen and it'd be a lot more severe than this."

"Well if you change your mind…"

"I-_won't_."

"Alright," Face replied in defeat.

"How's that, hon?" Murdock asked as he reached up and pulled the back of her shirt back down, "That better?"

"I suppose so," she answered.

"Ohh," Murdock groaned as he reached up and awkwardly tried putting his arms around her without touching her back, "That was _scary_."

"_Tell_ me about it," Jean replied, "Now I have _another_ reason to be scared of heights."

"You were serious about that?" Face asked, "Wait a minute, what about that time we all went on that roller coast _over_ and _over_ and _over_?"

"Had my eyes closed," Jean answered, "If you can't see how far or how fast you're falling, it's not _as_ bad." She tried moving and groaned, "Oh my poor back. I have more trouble with it than anything."

"So I've noticed," Face commented.

She tried moving again and said to Murdock in a low hiss, "Ohh I wish I could get out of stunt work, at this rate I'll be in worse shape than Evel Knievel before I'm even 30, if I even live that long."

"And you haven't even _broken_ anything yet," Murdock noted.

"And I don't plan to either," Jean remarked, "But then again who _does_?"

* * *

"Maybe I can see the sense in Hannibal's plan, but wouldn't it be smarter to have two different cars instead of two identical ones?" Jean asked as she, Murdock and Face looked over the twin white Monte Carlos.

"Well we're hoping that there won't be much traffic around where we're meeting Stevi so it'd be better off if anybody who notices only sees _one_ car or at least one _kind_," Face explained, "Better to confuse people that way."

"I suppose so," Jean said, "But are you sure it'll work?"

"Not yet, that's why we're going to test the escape route today," Face answered, "We're gonna split up and see if we can pull off the swap." A slightly disgusted look formed on his face as he added, "Oh that reminds me…" and turned towards her.

"What?" she asked.

"We need someone to sit in for Stevi."

Jean pointed to Murdock.

"That probably won't work since we've decided B.A.'s going to be the one driving her out," Face said.

"Aw come on, Facey, you know the Big Guy and I have a special bond," Murdock said.

"Yeah," Jean said, "Usually his big fat arm wrapped around your throat."

"Hmm, good point," he replied as he felt along his Adam's apple.

"So _I_ have to sit in for this…whatever she is?" Jean asked.

"_If_ you wouldn't mind," Face said, "We need two people in the decoy car, two people in the real car, and somebody's got to stay with the van incase we need backup."

"Well what do I do?" Jean asked.

"Nothing," Face answered.

Jean blinked, "Wow, some job."

"All you have to do is ride with B.A. and see if the getaway plan works," Face told her, "If not, Hannibal's going to have to go back to the drawing board on this one."

"He ought to do that more often in the beginning," she said, "Save him the trouble of rethinking his plans when they go to hell in the middle of the fight."

* * *

Jean would've loved to know not only how Hannibal came up with half the plans he did, but also how he knew about half the locations he did that were conveniently out of the way. The man must never sleep, probably when the rest of them were dead to the world he was out exploring every inch of greater California for hiding spots when the Army came sniffing too close.

She didn't even know _where_ the hell they were, they'd gotten in the cars and driven out to a heavily secluded area where there was some kind of run down, abandoned building with an _almost_ underground parking garage. She didn't know what to make of any of it, or why here or _how_ they found this place. The two white cars were placed alongside each other in the garage and waiting for the signal to move out. She and B.A. were in one, and Face and Hannibal were in the other car. Not far off, Murdock waited in the van with the radio on for when Hannibal gave his instructions.

And then, as if a gun had been fired and the noise of the shot had filled the air, they were off and running, so to speak. Hannibal and Face took off for the main road while B.A. drove them through a few back roads mainly constructed of dirt and gravel; after a few miles he finally got them onto a paved road and after a few minutes more, actually got them back onto a main road and back into something resembling traffic.

It was a hell of a way to travel, in her opinion, but apparently that's what paranoia did to people. Well, paranoia mixed with a healthy dose of common sense. Hannibal was smart enough to take a cautious approach to make sure it was impossible for anyone else to get the drop on them; given the lives they led and the enemies they had, it was never a possibility to be too prepared in that regard.

Up ahead Jean saw an intersection and a traffic light, and on the side where the light had turned red, she saw a green car swerve on through illegally and it seemed that the driver made no effort to slow down and was heading towards them; was in _fact_ moving over to the wrong side of the road so it was coming right _at_ them.

"B.A. watch out!" she yelled.

B.A. jerked the wheel to the side to swerve them out of the way but something was wrong; the wheel, finally giving in to his massive grip, locked for the first crucial seconds and only started to turn when it was too late. The car sped towards them and also only turned to the side once it was too late to avoid colliding; and the right side of the green car smashed against the front of the car on the passenger's side.

* * *

Jean felt the door on her side finally swing open and she moved back and fell out of the car onto her back. She didn't know how long she'd been in the car after the crash, she didn't know how badly she been hurt, she didn't know anything. The pain was strong enough that for a few minutes she couldn't even see. It took a while before she realized that she wasn't alone and that there were four men standing over her.

"That crazy fool just sideswiped us and took off, Hannibal!" B.A. was explaining, "Sucker had to be on _something_ he didn't even try to stop!"

Hannibal glanced at the damage to the car for a second before crouching down to get a better look at Jean, who hadn't been able to stop screaming in pain since she got out of the car, and with good reason it appeared. Her legs looked like they'd been smashed up in the wreck and bruises were already forming all the way up and down from where her jean shorts cut off clear down to her feet, and while he was sure they _felt_ mangled, it looked like Jean had had a narrow escape that they weren't broken. But even so, she shouldn't have been screaming _that_ much. He tried putting his hands on her to feel for anything broken or out of place but she grabbed at his hands and wouldn't let him. She had no other obvious injuries on her front side, so he knew they'd have to turn her over and get a look at her from the back before they could try moving her.

He had Face and Murdock help him turn her over onto her stomach, Jean had to suck in a couple of short breaths to scream anymore, but as soon as she was rolled over she could hear the horrified gasps that Face and Murdock made when they saw her back. The fact that they hadn't even lifted up her shirt to see the damage told her it was _very_ bad.

"Aw man, Hannibal," B.A. groaned.

Hannibal's voice was an alarming somber as he replied, "I know."

Jean thought getting off of her back would've made some of the pain go away but it hadn't and now any air she was able to take in went right back in alternating between screams and sobs of indescribable agony.

She felt Hannibal kneel down close to her as he told her, "Alright Jean, I need you to listen to me…I need to try fixing your back before we can even _try_ getting you up and to a doctor, you understand?"

She didn't understand what he meant by 'fixing' her back but she managed a short nod.

"Alright…" Hannibal was trailing off as he spoke, he was trying to figure out what he was going to do before he could sound convincing for her benefit, but she knew it. "Alright, Jean, listen…I'm going to try something, I _know_ it hurts now, but to fix your back it's going to hurt even more."

A particularly loud sob got past her, she couldn't imagine the pain being any worse than it already was.

"I know," Hannibal sounded sorry that he had to do this, whatever it was, "And when that happens you're especially going to have every reason to cry. But it has to be done…so just…brace yourself, I'm going to do it on the count of 3."

Jean tried digging her nails into the dirt as if it would give her a better grip against…whatever, was going to happen. Face and Murdock, who both looked a little green around the gills, got down on either side of her and grabbed her by the wrists and hands so she couldn't lash out and hurt anyone else, or herself even worse.

"Alright…" she felt Hannibal's hands placed on her back, "Ready…1…2…"

She didn't know _what_ he did, and for the first few seconds she couldn't even feel it, she just heard a loud, sickening CRUNCH, actually it sounded like several crunches all joined together, and immediately after it was like her whole back had gone numb. But it was quickly replaced with the _worst_ pain she'd ever felt, _even_ worse than before, just as Hannibal had promised. And when that happened, she yelled louder than she could ever remember doing before, replaced a few seconds later by a few higher pitched cries than she had ever made before, and she felt her whole body collapse against the ground.

After a few seconds passed, she felt somebody grab her and as reality slowly started to sink back in she realized it was Hannibal gathering her up into his arms, careful not to touch her back, instead he patted a shoulder as he murmured to her, "Easy, easy…good girl…it's over now."

The pain was still imminent enough that it forced her eyes shut for a few minutes. And through her closed eyes she still saw things, some kind of pattern dancing in front of her shut eyelids, looked like fireworks going off. Then they were replaced with jagged lines going back and forth and falling, and rising up again, and falling again. Then the lines became thicker, and colored, green and blue, maybe a little red as well. By the time she opened her eyes again, everything looked different, the coloring to everything looked darker than usual. That gradually faded away as he eyes adapted to the afternoon light again.

"Alright kid," Hannibal told her, "We're going to move you to the van and get you to a doctor, alright?"

Jean slowly nodded.

"Can you walk?" he asked her.

"I…" she tried to think if she could, "I'll try, just help me up."

Murdock and Face got on either side of her and grabbed her arms, Hannibal got to his feet and helped them get her up. She had to hang on to two of them to maintain her balance but she was able to walk, if only slightly. Hannibal ran on ahead and got the back door open so they could get her settled in and he and B.A. got in the front to get out of there.

Hannibal turned in his seat and watched as they got Jean settled in the middle with Murdock on one side of her and Face on the other and he told her, "If you think you can hold out long enough, we'll get to Bad Rock and have Maggie fix you up."

By this time however, Jean was too far out of it to even pay attention to his question. She had collapsed or passed out, one of the two, leaning against Murdock; he held her against him, careful not to touch her back. Face likewise sat close enough to her so she wouldn't get knocked around much if they hit any bumpy roads and kept his hands pressed high up on her back near her shoulders to try and hold her still for the ride. Hannibal turned back in his seat and told B.A., "Alright, Sergeant, get us out of here."

* * *

"Now you guys know I've never been a big fan of the pharmaceutical industry," Face said, "But it _is_ amazing what a couple little white pills can do, isn't it?"

They _had_ managed to get to Maggie's and have her examine Jean. She'd concluded that during the crash Jean had suffered plenty of bruising and found evidence of misaligned vertebrae despite Hannibal's amateur and unorthodox manner of putting her spine back into place; Maggie had been able to get the rest of it put back where it belonged with a couple of very precise movements. But even that couldn't stop Jean's screaming once she was fully conscious again, so Hannibal had twisted Maggie's arm to get her to dope Jean up on a little morphine and temporarily put her out of her misery. Once again Maggie had stressed giving the pills to an admitted addict, especially since in a few days there wasn't going to be anyone around to keep an eye on her; but Hannibal wouldn't take no for an answer since as he pointed out, this was no time to try her out on something different and find out the hard way if she was allergic to methadone. So, Maggie had given in against her better judgment, and the pills had started to take effect before they even got home; and similar to last time, being doped up had made her just plain dopey.

And _now_, they were back at Jean's house and B.A. was carrying her into the house and she was wriggling and squirming in his grip yelping and whooping and howling like Murdock when he flew planes.

"Don't drop me, B.A.!" she yelled gleefully.

"I ain't gonna drop ya," B.A. told her, and not for the first time, "_Why_ is it you keep saying I'm gonna drop you, but when you go up in a plane with the crazy fool you don't worry about crashing?"

"Because in an airplane you can see the WIDE OPEN SPACES out the windshield!" Jean told him, "There's nothing out there to get caught under the wheels and bring the whole thing crashing down! YOU on the other hand, ANYTHING could trip up those size 14 CLODHOPPERS of yours and then we'll _both_ go down like a set of dominoes." She squirmed and looked over his shoulder and called to Murdock, pointing down to B.A.'s shoes, "Hey Murdock, check it out! Not Bigfoot, TWO Bigfeet!" and she started to howl in laughter again.

B.A. stopped, turned to glare back at the others and growled.

"Oh well," Hannibal said dismissively, "At least she's out of pain for the moment."


	11. Chapter 11

Face looked up from the food he'd been helping Murdock get ready for dinner when he saw Hannibal coming to the kitchen and he asked the Colonel, "Well, how's she doing?"

"Pills finally _fully_ kicked in, she's dead to the world," Hannibal answered.

"Small favors _indeed_," Face said.

Murdock picked up the cutting board full of chopped up potatoes and dumped them into a large pan of boiling water and commented, "That's not gonna be the problem, last time we had Maggie put her on those pills, after a few days they made her an insomniac. She didn't sleep for at least three days."

Hannibal looked to Face and asked him, "Get a hold of Amy?"

"Yeah, she said she'll be over later tonight to help," Face told him.

"What about B.A.?" Hannibal asked.

"He says it'll take a few days to get the car fixed," Face answered as he returned his attention to cutting the bottoms of the asparagus.

"And?" Hannibal added.

"Belt broke," Face said as he brought the knife down in one move and chopped off all the bottom parts, "That's why the wheel locked up and he couldn't get them out of the way, take a few days to get _that_ fixed too he said."

"They were both lucky they weren't killed in that crash," Hannibal noted.

"That's what I've been trying to tell the Big Guy but he just won't listen," Murdock turned to Hannibal, "According to all available statistics you're _far_ more likely to be killed in a car accident than in a plane crash, in fact…"

"Not now, Murdock," Hannibal said, "We're not in the mood and quite frankly I don't think this is the most appropriate time."

"Oh, right, sorry Colonel," Murdock said as he turned his attention back to the potatoes.

Face asked Hannibal, "You think she'll even be awake by the time dinner's ready?"

"If not," Hannibal replied, "We'll save part of it for her."

"You sure she's alright, Colonel?" Murdock asked.

"She's not feeling any pain, I can tell you that much," Hannibal said. All the same when B.A. had gotten her settled on her bed, Hannibal had seen to placing a couple pillows under her to ease the pressure from the mattress against her battered flesh.

* * *

Amy had come over that night to assist in any way she could since Hannibal had figured they could very possibly need a woman's help in dealing with Jean. He _knew_ that her legs had been bruised from top to bottom, her back was a nice shade of broken blood vessel as well, and she'd also sustained some smaller bruises on her arms from the impact of the crash. Anything else was anybody's guess, but he knew when the drugs eventually wore off and they _would_ wear off and there was going to come a time when Jean wouldn't have access to anymore since they _didn't_ want to risk her becoming hooked, that it was going to be pure hell for her to move around on her own.

Jean _had_ woken up for dinner and it was obvious she was still doped up because reality hadn't yet come crashing down on her. After dinner she said she wanted to take a bath, and she was actually able to get around fairly well on her own, but all the same Hannibal insisted Amy help her into the bathroom and stick around to make sure she didn't slip and split her head open or drown in the tub.

A short while later Amy came down the stairs and told Hannibal, "Jean's done with her bath."

"And?" Hannibal asked, wondering _why_ she felt a need to tell him this.

"She won't let me help her out of the tub, she asked for _you_," Amy said.

"Me?" Hannibal's eyes raised slightly in surprise, "Oh boy." He tried to figure out _just_ what that was supposed to mean.

He went up the stairs to the bathroom and announced he was coming in before he even touched the doorknob. Slowly he pulled the door open and when he peered in, he was a bit relieved but also surprised to see Jean was sitting on the edge of the tub already wrapped up in a large towel. Ah, _now_ he realized, _now_ reality was setting in, he could tell by the look on her face even though she had it focused on the tiled floor instead of up at him.

"You rang?" he asked.

Jean raised her head up slowly and said, trying to sound nonchalant, "Hey, Hannibal."

"Amy says you sent her away, is that true?" he inquired.

"Uh…" she cocked her head to one side as if she was considering the question and answer, then she looked to him and explained, "It's no offense to Amy, but I'm worried if I fall down that she won't be able to help me up."

"Ah, okay," he said as he went over to the tub to help her to her feet. He placed his hands right under Jean's shoulders and helped pull her up and then got behind her to walk her to her room.

"How're you feeling, kid?" he asked.

She didn't answer him, which could've been taken either way.

"That good, eh?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

They reached her room and he walked her over to the bed and made sure she didn't just collapse against it.

"What the hell did you do to my back?" Jean asked him out of nowhere.

Her question took Hannibal by surprise but only slightly. Hardly missing a beat he told her, "Just a little rough hewn chiropractic work."

"Oh yeah?" she groaned, "That something you learn in the Army?"

"Not officially," he said, "But it _was_ something I picked up while serving overseas."

"Hmm, no kidding," she tiredly remarked.

"Had a few comrades who had their spines knocked so far out of whack I had to do an emergency job of popping them back in _just_ so we could move them enough to get to a field hospital," he explained, "You learn the hard way _and_ the fast way in a war."

"I see," Jean tiredly said as she closed her eyes and her head tilted off to the side.

Hannibal felt weird for asking but he did ask Jean, "You, eh, you gonna be able to get yourself dressed?"

She opened her eyes again and answered, "I can do that by myself just _fine_, thank you."

But it was obvious to Hannibal that she'd be out like a light long before that happened, and he was right. In a couple minutes she'd fallen back against the pillows and was out like a light.

Even though it was still July, and the house was warm despite the air conditioner running, Hannibal decided it would be better to try leaving the poor girl with some dignity so he pulled the covers up over her and loosely tucked her in.

* * *

The next morning Hannibal stood at the doorway and poked his head in and saw that Jean had managed to wrangle herself into a tank top and a pair of shorts. She sat on her knees on the bed and her whole body from the knees up slowly bobbed up and down and from side to side as she continuously ran her hands through her hair like she didn't know what to do with it.

"Where's Murdock?" he asked.

"I told him to get out so I could get dressed," Jean answered, not even looking at him, "I didn't want him to see me like this."

"How're you feeling?" he asked.

She let out a sharp groan and said, "It's a no win situation, if I lay on my back it kills my back, if I lay on my front it's murder on my legs."

"Take anymore pills?" he asked.

Jean shook her head, "Can't, I can't…"

Hannibal went over to the bed and replied, "You _can_, and if you have to you _will_. Yesterday you walked away from becoming a compacted crispy critter, don't press your luck. Now come on, you'll take a pill now and you'll be good for what, six hours?"

"More likely four with my luck," she said.

Hannibal just shrugged as he found the pill bottle and said, "Well, Maggie says it's still more effective than an IV drip."

"Oh wow _that's_ comforting," she dryly remarked, "Hannibal…that car that hit us…"

"What about it?" Hannibal asked.

"That _couldn't_ have been planned, could it?" she asked, "Nobody knew where we were going, it couldn't have been on purpose, could it?"

"Do you think it was?" Hannibal asked.

"I'd hate to think that it _was_ intentional," Jean said, "How could the driver have possibly known?"

"He didn't," Hannibal said, "I had B.A. give me a description of the car from what he could remember, and it matched against the description of a car involved in a crash yesterday that actually made it into the papers. The driver was killed on impact. Now it's going to take a while for a toxicology report to find anything but the police on the scene said there was half a bottle of whiskey on the passenger side floor and he reeked of it."

Jean tiredly nodded her head and said, "Irony of ironies."

"How's that?" he asked her.

Jean sank back down against the mattress and said, "You know how the law says 18 year olds can't drink, people claim it's because they're too young to be responsible with alcohol? Funny, when a 30 year old or a 50 year old gets plastered and gets behind the wheel of a car, _nobody_ wants to know _why_ he's not responsible just because he grew up to be 21. They just acknowledge that he's not responsible and leave it at that, but still think that they can get by with that excuse on 18 year olds who are by law also adults, and are adult enough to get drafted, get shipped halfway around the world and blown to bits over a war they don't have any idea what's going on or over whose real estate it is."

Even before Jean swallowed the pill, Hannibal could see she was breathing hard and her eyes weren't registering on much, the only thing that _was_ registering was pain, pain _and_ fatigue. He grabbed her to get her attention and he told her, "We've been through this dance enough times before, you know it'll get easier."

Jean just barely nodded and weakly replied, "After it gets worse."

* * *

The day finally came that the A-Team was going to finally meet with Stevi Faith and make the final decision if they were taking the case or not, though everybody knew it was more than likely the answer would be 'yes'.

That was tomorrow, tonight however, Murdock was going around Jean's bedroom like a decapitated chicken, checking off everything that they had to make sure was taken care of before they went off and left her by herself. In the middle of picking up random things from around the room and carrying them over to another spot to pick up something else, he dropped them all and got on the bed by her and said, "You know I'm gonna miss ya every day, don't you?"

Jean just nodded and said, "Of course I do."

"Because I am," he told her as he got off the bed and resumed being a walking pack rat, "I'm gonna miss you so much, I miss you already."

"Murdock you guys are only going to be gone a few days," Jean said.

"I know, but I feel so guilty having to go off and leave you here in your condition."

"My _what_?" Jean asked.

Murdock threw himself on the bed again and said, "Jean _promise_ me that you'll use your ring at the _first_ sign of trouble."

"Of _course_ I will, you know that," she said.

"Aw Jean," Murdock grabbed her hand and pressed it against his cheek, "You just don't know how bad I feel about this."

Jean scooted forward slightly and smoothed the hair back on the top of his head and she told him, "Believe me I do. But come on, Murdock, Hannibal's leaving Amy and Maggie's contacts here incase I need either of them, and you guys are going to be _well_ in range to pick up the Mayday alarm if need be. Don't worry, _nothing's_ gonna happen to me."

"Ooh I hope so," he replied, "Now let's see, let me think…ah…you still taking your pills?"

"You hear me screaming?" she asked.

"Okay…they giving you any trouble sleeping?" he asked.

"Not yet," she answered.

Murdock nodded frantically and said, "Good, good, so far that's good."

For all he'd been rambling on in the night and she'd just sat back against the pillows and taken it, he could tell that there was something on her mind too but she wouldn't dare mention it lest she come off as too needy or too clingy. The last couple days it had been a coin toss whether she wanted him to stay with her or not. But this was their last night together for a while, so he knew he was going to be staying with her, and even though she wouldn't say anything either way, he knew it meant as much to her as it did to him.

There hadn't been anything in the weather forecast for the night but a storm came out of nowhere and it poured down rain all night. Everyone in the house was oblivious to the sounds of rain beating against the house and the pavement, and the thunder and the bright lightning. Everybody was out like a light since they knew they'd have to be sharp and fast on their feet tomorrow. Murdock personally didn't have a care in the world that night, not even in his subconscious, as he slept comfortably with Jean right beside him and his arms wrapped tightly around her so he could feel her presence.

* * *

The next morning, Jean was settled on the couch downstairs in the living room so she'd be within easy access of the telephone, the kitchen, and the downstairs bathroom; and anything upstairs that she might need was brought down and kept within her reach in the living room. Ever since the aftermath of the crash and Hannibal had cracked her back into place, she was able to walk, but not well, and it was still a gradual process she was getting back to. Face brought down several changes of clothes to last for a few days but by the time he got down there everything had been jumbled together into one mess as he all but dropped everything over the back of one of the chairs. Hannibal decided to give him a hand sorting through everything so they could get out of there soon.

"Hey, what's this?" Face asked as he pulled something out of the pile. It was a sleeveless, almost floor length, white/blue/teal striped nightgown that felt like it was made from heavy T-shirt material, and he couldn't resist asking Hannibal, "What's this, Jean's idea of lingerie?"

Hannibal explained, "Murdock got it for her, figured it'd be easier for her to get in and out of while she's trying to rest."

"Oh…yeah I can see how he might think that," Face said as he put it back over the chair, "The real question, _will_ she actually wear it?"

"Not while we're around I reckon," Hannibal answered simply.

They heard a series of disgruntled sounds from above and went to see what was going on. Murdock had just barely made it down the stairs and had his arms loaded down with a single file stack of about 20 books that he couldn't even see over the top as he made his way into the living room before dropping them all on the coffee table.

"Okay, Saint," he said, "Here're the books you asked for."

"Thank you," Jean said, "What about my legal pads?"

"Oh…" Murdock looked through the wreckage, "I had them here somewhere when I brought everything down."

"What's all that for?" Face couldn't help asking.

"Well," Jean replied, "Just because I'm going to be stuck on this couch doesn't mean I can't keep my mind occupied. Have _something_ to do if there's nothing good on TV."

"Oh I almost forgot," Face said, "What about your pills?"

"How many are left in that bottle that Maggie gave you?" she asked.

"About 20, I had her refill it."

Jean crinkled her nose and said, "No I don't want them, throw them away." Face had just moved to head to the kitchen when she said, "No wait, don't do that. It's a lot of drugs to waste, keep them…no wait!" she said again, "I don't want them, I don't need to start that habit again, throw them out." And he moved to head into the kitchen again when she changed her mind again and said, "No wait!" Face turned sharply on one heel with his eyes slanted and his teeth gritted together over tightly pursed lips. Jean told him, "Throw out _half_ of them and keep the rest in the kitchen, so at least I'll have to get up to get another fix."

Face grunted and went to the kitchen.

"Okay, Jean," Hannibal said, "We got the phone moved in here, I left Amy and Maggie's numbers by the phone if you need them, and we'll call _you_ when we get settled in our safe house."

"What if Decker tries tapping the line?" Jean asked.

"I'd be disappointed in him if he didn't," Hannibal replied, "But it won't matter, we won't stay on long enough for him to get a trace on us. Okay, now, do you have everything down here that you need?"

"I think so," she said.

Murdock cleared his throat and reached in his pocket and took out her decoder ring and handed it to her.

"Get me a frying pan from the kitchen too _just_ incase Maggie decides to send an associate over," she added.

B.A. came out of the kitchen and said, "Alright, Hannibal, I got the alarm set up, any sucker tries coming through that back door gonna be sorry."

"Good work, B.A.," Hannibal said, "Alright, is the van loaded up?"

"Yes," everybody answered.

"Then I guess we can move out," he said.

Everyone had their turn at saying goodbye, first Face, then Hannibal, Murdock kissed her goodbye and managed a quick hug so he didn't hurt her, then B.A. came over to her and told her, "You just take it easy, mama, we'll be back 'fore long."

"Thanks, B.A.," she said.

They headed to the door, but at the last minute Murdock came running back to the living room for one more goodbye hug and kiss before joining the others outside.

"Well, we're off," Hannibal said as they got in the van and closed the doors.

"I figured that was a safe bet already," Face said.

* * *

As it turned out, they got out when the getting was good. Decker had recently returned from Florida and was none too thrilled about once again being given the slip by the A-Team, then he returned to find his office ransacked, all his files had been tossed all over the room, the papers scattered everywhere. It took him two days to get everything back the way it was and by the time he'd finished he realized that to the best of his recollection, _nothing_ was missing, so _why_ he wanted to know had the A-Team busted in there just to trash the place?

He didn't think he'd have long to wonder though. Late that morning, an anonymous tip came in from someone who said they saw a group of men who fit the descriptions of the A-Team and gave Decker the address. After he'd hung up he realized why the address sounded familiar, it was in the direct vicinity of Jean's house. Well, at least he wouldn't have far to go to catch them this time. He got Crane and the two of them sped out to the house.

When they arrived they didn't see anyone, they also didn't see the A-Team's van anywhere, but of course Decker knew that didn't mean anything. They got out of the car and headed up to the front door, both with their guns drawn and ready. Before they even made it to the door though, they heard a loud crashing sound coming from inside the house, accompanied by the sound of somebody screaming in agony. Decker found the door wasn't locked and he threw it open and they charged in to see what was going on.

What they found was Jean on the dining room floor trying to roll over onto her back so she could get her feet on the ground and stand up. Decker and Crane pocketed their guns and went over to her.

"Miss Rhodes?"

Jean craned her neck back and saw them standing over her, "Oh it's _you_, Roddy, long time no see, eh?"

She managed to get on her back but then she fell flat, exposing her legs that were tattooed black and blue from her thighs clear down to her feet; it was something that Decker had never seen before in his life.

"What the hell happened to you?" he asked her.

"Believe me, Decker, you wouldn't believe it even if I told you," Jean said.

She'd been smashed up _very_ well in the crash, the bruises were nowhere near even beginning to fade and still looked fresh.

He asked her, "Do you need a doctor?"

"I've already been to one, they didn't do me any good," she said as she tried to get up, and failed, "If you could just get me over to the couch so I can decompose properly…"

So, Crane and Decker each got on a side of her and pulled her up and helped her into the living room, once they were to the couch, Crane let go of her left side and Decker helped her down onto the couch so she didn't land hard or fall off.

She let out a heavy breath and half slurred, "Thanks…" and let her head fall back against the arm, then she picked it up and said, "Oh damn, I forgot my pills in the kitchen."

"I'll get them," Crane offered.

Winded and tired, she huffed out, "Oh thank you," and collapsed against the couch.

Once he was out of the room, Jean opened her eyes and said to Decker, "And what, may I ask, brings you out here? I know you didn't decide to make this trip for the hell of it or to be neighborly."

"We got a call that the A-Team was here," Decker told her.

"Well you're right, they _were_," Jean said and shook her head, "But no more…they came here a little while ago, took Murdock, and left. And it's no good asking _me_ where they've gone because they didn't tell me. _Although_ if I had to guess, since they took Murdock it must mean that they're going to fly, and I'd wager he's going to be flying something big and fancy, which means they're leaving the country and flying overseas and landing in some other country and most likely he'll be taking them down somewhere off radar, away from the airport, out in the middle of nowhere where they don't have to get their passports checked."

"You _really_ expect us to believe that the A-Team would take off and leave you here like _this_?" Decker asked her.

Jean shrugged and said, "Such is life for them, duty calls and all that."

"I find that hard to swallow," Decker told her.

"Oh come on, Roddy," Jean yawned, "When have I _ever_ lied to you?"

Decker glared at her as if to say 'Are you kidding me?'

"Come on, Decker, if he'd had a _choice_, do you _think_ Murdock _would_ leave me here like _this_?" she asked as she pointed to her legs.

Well, it was hard to argue that, but Decker still wasn't convinced that they weren't around. He found he couldn't stop staring at the bruises on her legs and for the life of him he couldn't figure out _what_ could have caused it. Once again he asked her, "What the _hell_ happened to you?"

Jean shook her head, "I told you before, you wouldn't believe it."

She looked at him as if she might be able to read his mind. The logical answer seemed to be if the A-Team _wasn't_ here, perhaps they were out tracking down whoever did _this_. If that's what Decker thought, let him, gave him another false trail to follow.

Crane came back with the bottle of pills and a glass of water. Jean took two pills and engaged in a little more elusive double talk with Decker just to see how infuriated she could make him. Decker noticed that after a few minutes Jean's head lolled to the side and she closed her eyes. Since she seemed to be asleep, he and Crane decided to have a look around the house and make _sure_ that the A-Team was hiding somewhere.

Decker had enough experience in this house to anticipate a booby trap behind every door, around every corner, he watched his step every inch of the way. It all turned out to be for nothing, there wasn't a single trap to be found, until they reached the back door. This one clearly had been set up to trap someone coming in from the outside because he could actually _see_ the booby trap. Once the door opened, it jerked a wire that pulled the trigger on a shotgun over the door aimed right where someone might be standing; in theory it would be easy enough to disconnect the wire but he knew that the A-Team specialized in what you _didn't_ look for, so he decided to leave it alone. It didn't stop him from heading out the front door and walking around to the back yard, check the garage, check the back yard, check the alley out behind the property; there was no sign of anybody anywhere, especially not the A-Team.

"You think she's telling the truth?" Crane asked Decker as they met up by the front door again.

"I think there's a better chance of lightning hitting in the same place 10 times," Decker said, "But it's obvious they're _not_ here."

They went back in to the living room, and the only moving Jean had done in that time was to roll over onto her side, with her back facing them. In the process her shirt had gotten hiked up and it gave Decker a good view of the bruises on her back. _Those_ made what happened to her legs look like beauty markings. Decker felt his stomach tighten in a knot and something rose to his throat that he had to swallow. He reached and grabbed the bottom of her shirt and pulled it back down and covered the mess of purple and black marks, and the two men left the house and headed back to the Federal Building.

* * *

The A-Team had made an agreement with Stevi's manager, David Salto, to meet them in a hotel that she was already checked into under an assumed name; but they agreed to meet in a separate room that Hannibal had had Face reserve for them under another assumed name. Seemed like a perfect way to conduct a meeting of the minds under publicly false pretenses, what could be safer?

Meeting Stevi Faith was not like anything else you could imagine. Especially given everything that the Team had heard in the last few days, they never would've expected what they saw. If you'd seen one sleeve for any of her albums then you had a fair idea what she looked like, in all her pictures her appearance seldom changed. And that was exactly _how_ she entered the hotel room; blonde and tan stringy curly hair, about four different shades of color makeup on her face, and she was dressed in zebra print pants, neon sneakers, and a purple and white tie-dye tank top.

"Well, Miss Faith," Hannibal said, "It's nice to meet you finally."

She looked around the room first before seeing them and said as she looked off to the bathroom as if searching for a booby trap or an assassin, "Yeah, same, for real man."

Hannibal, Face and Murdock all exchanged similar 'I don't get it' looks, Hannibal turned to her and said, "Your manager's already filled us in on part of the details, but perhaps you'd like to give us your side of the story?"

"Oh sure," she said as she turned around and really saw them for the first time, "Well the problem is Woody Stone, he used to be my manager."

"I thought you said your ex-boyfriend was the one harassing you?" Face asked.

Stevi nodded and half shrugged and said, "Now you're getting it, I guess you'd call it a conflict of interests."

"Ah," Murdock spoke up, "Makes perfect sense."

"No it don't," B.A. said.

"You know, B.A.," Face tried to interject, "Mixing a little business with pleasure…and it backfired, right?"

"Woody was the one who discovered me and gave me my big break." Stevi walked over to a potted plant Murdock had brought to the room and placed on a stand by the wall and she traced through the undersides of the leaves with her finger as she explained, "I thought he was really gonna take me places, ya know? In the beginning we just _clicked_, it was…like electric. _Then_, once my first album went platinum and my tour ended, he and I started to have…creative differences about what the next move was."

"Nothing new there," Face said as he sat down.

"Oh yeah," Stevi said as she quit playing with the plant and turned around to them again, "He wanted to repackage me before he marketed me again, a complete 180 from my breakout premiere. I told him it wasn't me, so I wasn't going to do it, he became really possessive. I didn't get it, there was just a _major_ karma shift between us, and I knew it wouldn't work out, so I hired an attorney to break my contract with him, and I broke out and started new," she nodded towards her new manager, "That's how I met Dave, our energies don't sync as well as Woody's and mine did in the beginning, but it's been more consistent."

"Three albums and four world tours later, I should certainly hope so," he replied jokingly.

"And everything's been going _swell_," Stevi added, "_Until_ Woody came back. First it was random, out in public, then he started showing up at my house, _then_ he started tailing me to the recording studio, I can't breathe with him around."

"And you tried calling the police and they brushed it off?" Face suggested.

"_Totally_," Stevi said, "Their energy is _dead_, man."

"And it doesn't help that some people don't like the foreign aids you support with the proceeds from your concerts," Face added.

"Close-minded, man, you know?" Stevi asked.

"Oh believe me, we _do_," Hannibal said, "Unfortunately international relations aren't at their best at this present time and some people don't appreciate the fine art of charity. But _what_ is it you think this Woody is capable of doing?"

"He's followed me across seven states and over two border lines in the last six months," Stevi said, "He keeps insisting that he's going to get me back no matter what, I'm not sure if there's anything he'd stop at if he was stubborn enough."

"You suspected he might've been able to infiltrate some of your staff?" Hannibal asked.

"Notes started coming in under my hotel room doors wherever I stopped," Stevi explained, "My assistant always said she never saw anything but it was almost always when she was the only one with me."

"You still have any?" Face asked.

"No way, man," Stevi shook her head, "It's bad karma to keep stuff like that, energy's in everything, and inanimate objects contain bad energy from the people who send them."

"Hard to argue with that, Faceman," Murdock said.

"Shut up, Murdock," B.A. told him.

"Do you think he may have followed you _here_?" Hannibal asked.

"That's why it took us so long to get here," Dave told him, "We went over every back road, every unpaved road, we even drove in places where there _were_ no roads. He couldn't _possibly_…"

"I don't know," Stevi said, "He's got a persistent aura and it tends to linger even once he's gone, so I'm not sure."

"The car you arrived in," Hannibal said, "It's downstairs, it's the one you've come halfway across the country in?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," Hannibal told them, "Here's what's going to happen, when we leave this hotel, Stevi's going to get in a car we brought with us, we're going to drive out to an abandoned building and switch with an identical car, _it_ is going to make a trip in public view and Stevi is going to be taken to a safe house we've secured in a low key neighborhood. In the meantime, B.A.'s going to check out _your_ car and make sure that it wasn't bugged with a tracking device."

"You really think that Woody would be capable of something like that?" Dave asked.

"_You_ sought us out in the first place," Hannibal pointed out, "I take that as meaning you also think there's some merit to all of this."

"Still…bugging the car?"

"That could be the least of it," Face said, "Like Stevi said, when a person's determined enough, there's no telling what they'll resort to."

"I'll say," Murdock added, "I could tell you things that would curl your nails..."

The next thing out of his mouth was a choked sound as B.A.'s massive hand wrapped around the back of his neck and he strongly suggested to Murdock, "_Don't_."

"So I take it that you're going to take the case?" Dave asked.

"I don't see why not," Hannibal said, "If this Woody Stone _is_ in the area and _does_ try anything, he's going to be in for a rude surprise."

"Totally awesome, man," Stevi said.

* * *

"Hannibal, you shouldn't have called," Jean said when the phone rang later that afternoon, "Decker was out here earlier today, somebody reported seeing you guys here, he might have tapped the line."

"No matter," Hannibal said, "I had B.A. fix the phone before we left, we have a 2-minute warning."

"Like in football?" she asked.

"Something like that…so, what did you tell Decker?" Hannibal asked.

"I told him that you guys were likely heading out of the country since you needed Murdock to fly you," she said.

"Hmm," Hannibal pondered, "Since _you_ told him that he probably figures we're still somewhere in the area."

"In other words I screwed up again," Jean said as she sank lower against the couch.

"No," Hannibal said, "You did fine, in any case I seriously doubt he'll be able to figure out where we are."

"But who could've tipped him off?" Jean asked.

"Could be anybody, we're a bit hard to miss," he replied.

"So how's it going?" Jean asked.

"Well I think this time we'll be able to manage the drive out with any incidents," Hannibal said, "As it stands we're still at the hotel. Fire broke out a few blocks away and the streets are a mess, _nobody's_ going anywhere until further notice."

"Which means if this nut bar boyfriend's already _there_," Jean said, "He can't get out either, so maybe you'll find him."

"I don't think he's here," Hannibal told her, "I think he's out _there_ somewhere."

"Watching?" Jean asked.

"Perhaps. How're _you_ holding up, kid?"

"I'm going out of my mind with boredom, every inch of my body from the neck down is killing me _and_ I have a _weird_ little dog here _staring_ at me," she answered.

"Murdock forgot to bring Billy."

"He didn't _forget_," Jean told him, "He left him behind to be a guard dog, _some_ guard dog, Decker comes in here and this dumb dog just rolls over to get his belly scratched. I could've bitten Decker myself and gotten a better outcome."

Hannibal chuckled, "Just hang in there, kid, we'll be in touch."

"Okay, bye," Jean said and put the receiver back onto the switch hook. She crossed her feet over one another and tried to think what to do now. After Decker had left, Jean had picked up one of her legal pads and tried jotting down a few potential ideas for a script to write, but all she wound up doing was drawing little cartoons of Decker getting blown up by dynamite or having his gun explode in his face, or one that she particularly liked was him and Crane and their MP car mangled like at the end of those 'Smokey and the Bandit' movies.

Okay, so maybe Decker wouldn't figure out _where_ the A-Team had gone, but why take the chance? Jean smiled to herself as the decision came to her; it looked like she was going to have to cause some trouble. She picked up the receiver again and dialed a number and waited for an answer.

"Hi V.C.?" she said, "It's Jean, hey, how quick did you say your brothers could strip down a car? They have any experience with sedans?" The mischievous grin on her face spread out and grew as she asked her, "How'd you guys like to have a little fun?"


	12. Chapter 12

Murdock came into Stevi's hotel room and told her, "That traffic's going _nowhere_, which means neither are we."

"Oh _dull_ man," Stevi said.

"Yeah…don't worry though, we're gonna make sure this place is secured that _nobody_ could get in here without us knowing," he told her as he moved over to the windows to make sure they were locked.

Stevi folded her arms and said to his back, "I really appreciate you guys helping me, I'm picking up _good_ energy from you."

Murdock laughed awkwardly and replied, "Thank you, Miss Faith."

"Stevi."

"Okay…thank you, Stevi."

Murdock turned around and saw Stevi going through her closet taking everything off the rack and trying to stuff it all into her suitcase.

"Somebody beat you to the soap and towels?" he asked.

"Huh?" she asked.

Murdock pointed to the hangers.

"No way, they're _mine_," she said.

"Ah, good thinking," Murdock said.

Murdock picked up one outfit and held it up against himself. It was a black sequined dress with the back out and a matching jacket and…he lifted up the skirt, matching black shorts built in underneath too.

"Nifty," he commented. He looked at it pressed against him and he laughed as he realized it could about fit him.

"I have to finish packing," Stevi told him as she took the dress from him, "When that traffic jam's out I want to be ready to _leave_."

"Don't mind me," Murdock said, "I'll just make sure the rest of the place is secure and be on my way out."

Stevi turned her attention back to her closet, Murdock went over to the bathroom and pulled the door shut behind him and went over to the window to see if it was accessible from the outside. He stopped when he noticed the air vent high up on the wall. Murdock doubted that anybody could know that Stevi was there, but all the same…he saw a few candles around the bathtub and picked one up and lit it, and stood on the edge of the tub and held the candle up to see if the light reflected off of anything inside the vent. There was nothing, which he took as being a fair sign that there wasn't a hidden camera stashed away in there. He also tried pulling the lid off the vent to see if somebody could try sneaking into the room that way, but it was firmly in place. So the _only_ way somebody could get through there would be it'd have to be an inside job.

Murdock blew out the candle and put it back on the edge of the tub and was about to leave when he heard something outside. He put his ear to the wall and heard the outside door open and heard two people talking. Curious, he bent down and peeked out through the keyhole, and was more than just a _little_ shocked when he saw Stevi standing in the doorway with her arms around a man and the two were getting _very_ hot and heavy _very_ quickly. It was obvious, at least Murdock _hoped_, that this wasn't the bellboy. He couldn't watch, but then again what choice had he? So he decided to satisfy both sides, he covered _one_ eye as he watched. After getting more than an eyeful of those two about swallowing each other's lips, he stood straight up and chewed his nails as he considered his options. Now he was stuck in the middle of a very delicate situation, and _how_ was he going to remove himself from this equation? Obviously Stevi must've thought he'd already left, or she wouldn't have let…_who_ was that?, inside. He paced around the room and thought about what he was going to do, when the answer came to him and he went to the bathroom window and carefully lifted it up.

* * *

"I wonder what's keeping Murdock?" Hannibal looked at his watch, "He was supposed to be back by now."

"You know how Murdock is," Face said, "He's probably all ga-ga star struck over Stevi, maybe I ought to go get him…"

"_No_," B.A. made it clear, "Because you just as bad as the crazy fool, even worse."

"How's that?" Face asked.

"We all know what you' like around a woman, Face," B.A. told him, "And you know the rules, no getting involved with the clients."

"Well I guess that settles it then," Hannibal said as he took his cigar out of his mouth, "_I'll_ go over and see what's keeping the Captain."

"Oh come on, Hannibal," Face said, "Why do you—AHHHH!"

B.A. and Hannibal turned to see what Face was pointing at and they both almost had a similar reaction when they saw Murdock inching his way along outside their window. Ordinarily that might be mildly surprising, but they knew it was serious because there was _no_ fire escape or balcony outside that window, which meant Murdock was just inching his way along the ledge.

B.A. went over to the window, threw it up, reached out and grabbed Murdock and jerked him in demanding to know, "What's the big idea you crazy fool? You trying to scare us to death or something?"

"B.A.," Hannibal came over to the Sergeant and clapped a hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

"_What_ is it, Hannibal?" B.A. asked.

Hannibal decided to point out, "You're choking him."

B.A. let go of Murdock's throat and asked him again, "What's the idea of messing around out there, Murdock?"

Murdock looked to Hannibal and said only, "Colonel…I think we have a problem."

* * *

"Who was in this room with you earlier, Miss Faith?" Hannibal asked, once they'd all gone back to Stevi's room for a little confrontation, and by this time her mystery suitor had long since disappeared.

Stevi shrugged from where she sat on her room's couch and said, "Just my boyfriend, Tony."

"Is there a reason you didn't tell us about him before?" Face asked.

She looked at them like they'd landed down from Mars, "Why should I?"

Murdock smacked himself in the forehead.

Hannibal crouched down so he could make level eye contact with her and explained calmly but firmly, "Miss Faith, if you want us to help you and take your case, then you're going to have to help us and give us all the details about what's going on, now _who_ is Tony?"

"Tony Bianchi, I told you he's my boyfriend," Stevi said.

"How long have you known him?"

"Two months," Stevi said, "He's the longest relationship I've had since Woody."

"Where'd you meet him?" Hannibal asked.

"At the health food store," she said.

"Ah, _there's_ a winner," Face sarcastically commented.

"You just don't get it," Stevi said.

"No, he's just disappointed," B.A. said and got out a small haw of a laugh.

"Does he know about Woody?" Hannibal asked as he stood straight again.

"Uh yeah, I told him about Woody," Stevi said.

"How much?" Hannibal asked.

"Ah…well…I don't know."

"Does he know Woody's stalking you now?"

"I told Tony I don't want to see Woody anymore," Stevi said, "But I haven't told him about _this_."

"And _what_," Hannibal raised his foot and placed it on the arm of the couch as he glared down at her, "Do you know about Mr. Bianchi?"

"I know plenty," Stevi insisted, "Ours is a very open relationship, most open one I ever had, we don't make a habit of keeping secrets from each other, I trust him with my life."

"How suiting," Face noted dryly.

"Alright," Hannibal scratched through his white and graying hair, "Have you told him about _us_? About _where_ you're going?"

Stevi shook her head, "No, I didn't tell him about _that_."

"Well _good_," Hannibal said, "The idea is to keep you out of sight, that _nobody_ knows where you are, not _even_ your manager."

"Not Dave?" Stevi asked, "How come?"

"Strictly a precaution," Murdock explained as he sat down beside her on the couch, "He'll be alright, if Woody's coming after _you_ then he's not targeting your manager, but he might tail him to find you."

Stevi nodded slowly in understanding, "Oh, I get it."

"Fine, now that we've got that settled," Hannibal said, "What did you tell Tony when he came here? _How_ did he know to find you here?"

"Well…" Stevi bit down on one of her neon polished nails.

"You told him where you were coming?" Face asked.

"A _few_ times," Stevi answered, "As many times as we went around in circles and stopped off at different places, I had to see him _somewhere_."

"And he's expecting to see you again later?" Hannibal asked.

Stevi nodded, "I mentioned meeting him at a club later."

Now it was Face who took a turn and hit himself on the forehead.

"You're new at this, aren't you?" Murdock asked her.

Stevi huffed and threw her hands up exasperatedly and said, "I've been cooped up in a car on the road all week, I want to get out and hit the scene."

"That's what Woody's going to be counting on," Hannibal told her, "_Everybody_ knows you're a party animal, and so does he, and he's going to be looking for you at any night club there's the slightest chance you might frequent."

He turned and started to walk away and she scowled at his back through one eye and told him, "I'm _not_ a party animal, I'm a party _reptile_."

"And after that," Murdock said, "Comes party _criminal_."

"And then finally," Stevi added, "At 3 o' clock in the morning zonked out on the couch…"

"Party vegetable!" the two said and high fived each other.

Face got a sudden look of dread on his face and turned to B.A. and asked him, "Am I losing my mind or are they bonding?"

B.A. smacked the side of his face in disbelief as he watched the two.

* * *

The next time Jean got the hell banged out of her, she'd made up her mind she was just going to raid Murdock's stock of emergency medicinal whiskey, it would have to be easier to get over than this.

How long? How long had it been? Ah…she looked to the clock and watched the second hand tick-tick-tick by, 18 seconds since she'd last looked at it, then 19, 20, 21, 22, 23…she looked down and saw her nails raking back and forth over the top of her wrist, and instead stuck the scratching hand in the crook of her arm so it couldn't move.

Don't need the pills, she kept telling her self, don't need the pills, don't _want_ the pills, want a beer, want something good and strong and stiff…couldn't have both, had to be one or the other, had to give her body time to get the pills out of her system. She _never_ felt this awful on the Hydromorphone…but then again she never took those pills as much as she'd taken these in the last few days, big difference there. Her other wrist started itching so she rubbed it roughly against the denim of her jean shorts. Had to get the morphine _out_…Murdock would never be allowed off the ground with any drugs in his system, and if she ever wanted to get on the road again she knew the same rules applied to her, maybe even more so, after all Murdock said more crashes involved cars on the ground than planes up in the air, maybe there was a connection.

She was choking on phlegm in her throat, at first she thought it was just a standard withdrawal induced runny nose, but then she felt her face and realized the wet tracks were in the wrong place for that to be it. Damn, when they said dysphoria they weren't kidding. She didn't even know _why_ she was crying other than the fact that she was trying to wait this out and that's what tended to happen during those periods. Ohh she was glad that there wasn't anybody here now to see her like this.

So far she'd done very well, she'd put on a good show for everybody's benefit. Earlier in the day she'd made a phone call to her mother. She always downplayed everything for her mother's benefit so she wouldn't worry, and in fact she'd downplayed it so much, that her mother didn't even know she'd been in an accident, or was in any pain, or on bedrest. So long as her mother didn't know anything was wrong, that was the most important thing; no sense worrying someone 3,000 miles away who couldn't do anything about it. Ask her parents to move out there to be near them, what the hell was she thinking?

Now she was on the floor. It was impossible to get comfortable, she'd tried every position imaginable on the couch, in the chair, even in B.A.'s bed since his room was on the ground floor. Nothing. Then she tried the floor, it had worked before when she couldn't stand being in the bed with Murdock. But all to no avail, she tried the carpeted floor of the living room, the tiled floor of the kitchen, and the wooden floor in the front room, it was simply impossible to get into a comfortable position anywhere. The hot and cold flashes didn't help either, first she'd freeze, but even to cover herself with a light sheet made her burn up and she had to kick it away. She simply couldn't figure it, even when she was shot and on a morphine drip in the hospital, breaking away from it hadn't been this bad. But what was it Hannibal had said? Maggie told him the pills were longer lasting than the IV drips. Go figure. Maybe that was why it was harder now. She didn't know, her mind was swimming.

Her breathing was ragged, she swallowed heavy, there was a lump in her throat, and it felt like her whole body was covered in sweat, and she just _knew_ that she wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. How long? How long had it been since she'd taken the last pills? She took two earlier…no, no that wasn't right. After the A-Team had left, she'd gotten up while the numbness was still lasting, taken the bottle of morphine pills, opened the kitchen window, closed her eyes and tossed them out somewhere. She'd find them once she was better and could actually walk outside. Crane had brought her a bottle of extra strength ibuprofen, 500 milligrams in each tablet, she'd taken 1,000 milligrams; nowhere near as strong as morphine, but mental was as important as physical, you could think yourself into anything, so she had to keep telling herself that the fact remained she still had 1,000 milligrams of painkillers coursing through her body, therefore they must work, must have _some_ effect. Maybe they actually had, she didn't know, she hadn't allowed herself to think of that. It helped when you could actually sleep because if you slept you weren't aware of any pain. But she couldn't sleep now and she just _knew_ she wasn't going to get any sleep tonight either.

Her eyes burnt as a fresh batch of hot tears worked their way loose. Even if it were possible, she knew that there wouldn't be anything he could do, but all the same she wished that Murdock was with her. Suffering in silence was just fine so long as you didn't have to suffer alone. She closed her eyes and tried to take her mind off of the pain she was in and how lousy she felt, and she also tried _not_ to think about what Murdock was doing with that woman Stevi Faith.

* * *

The seven Trang siblings came charging up the porch steps and threw open the front door and marched in to find Jean and tell her how the job went. V.C. led the way into the dining room and she came to a sudden stop and one by one her brothers all crashed into each other and into her.

"What is it?" Lee asked.

Jimmy jumped up to see past them and he let out a surprised yelp, and one by one everybody fell into place and got an eyeful.

Apparently sometime that day, Jean had climbed up on the dining room table and used it for a bed to fall asleep on and she was wrapped up in a large sheet and practically had her head buried in a pillow. It was a sight none of them had ever seen the like of before, being a family of seven kids they definitely had their share of tightly fitted homes but nobody had ever resorted to bunking on a table.

Slowly they all tiptoed over to the table and V.C. reached out and poked Jean all up and down her body to see if they could get a response out of her. Finally she grunted and grumbled and tried swatting whatever was jabbing at her, then she opened her eyes and realized she had a whole group of people standing over her.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"You a somnambulist or something?" Tommy asked.

V.C. elbowed him sharply in the ribs and told him, "Shaddup, Number One Son."

Jean was awake now, but still so clearly out of it she didn't even realize where she was. It seemed to the others that she must've thought she was in bed, she just lay back against the table and looked up at them and asked again what was going on.

"We did what you said," V.C. told her, and pointed to one of her brothers, "Jackie called in a false lead to Decker and we brought out the whole parade."

"Oh…" she tiredly replied.

"We didn't have time to strip the cars down but we did give them our trademark special," Jason said.

"Go show her," V.C. told the guys.

The six men ran to the front door whooping and hollering like a bunch of idiots at her suggestion. She stayed behind and leaned her head down like she was looking over a mirror and asked Jean, "So how're ya doing, kid?"

"What time is it?" she asked.

V.C. checked her watch and said, "6:45."

"What?" Jean rubbed one eye, "Oh no…" and threw her head back against the pillow.

"What's wrong?" V.C. asked.

"I thought I'd managed to get through later into the night already," she said, "I'm never going to last till tomorrow at this rate. It was _all_ a dream?"

But of course she knew it wasn't all a dream, _all_ that stuff that had been coursing through her mind before she woke up was memories of earlier that day. It was something she'd developed as a kid when she was sick in bed all the time, trying to sleep she couldn't shut off her mind so she wound up replaying the same thing in her mind over and over and over monotonously until she finally dropped off to sleep. Sometimes it followed her into the unconscious and haunted her dreams, _just_ like now. _Except_, it wasn't _all_ memory…that was another thing, once in a blue moon she could have a dream about being sick and in the dream she'd be worse than she was when she was actually awake. How was that for irony?

"Speaking of which," V.C. said, "What the hell are you doing on this table?"

It was the first time Jean seemed to be aware of that fact, she grumbled and told V.C., "I can't get comfortable, I'm tired of that couch and I can't get comfortable on the floor, I even tried B.A.'s bed with the big _dip_ in it."

V.C. glanced to the ceiling and asked, "What about your _own_ bed?"

"I can't get up there," Jean said, "Not to get down again. I can barely walk, and crawling on my knees is only good if I'm doped to the gills."

V.C. looked at her uncertainly and patted her on the head and asked her, "You eat?"

"Not for a while," Jean said, "Haven't taken any pills either, not since Decker was here."

"_What_ pills?" V.C. asked.

"Don't worry, I switched them with something more mediocre," Jean said as she struggled to keep her eyes open, "I've done this dance with the devil before, I don't wait to let the hooks sink in, though I think I came damn close this time."

They heard the front door slam open and looked to see the six guys come running in rolling six car tires in front of them.

"What's that?" Jean asked.

"A Trang special," Lee said, "The right front tire and the spark plug taken off of _each_ MP sedan while those dopes were inside storming the building."

Jean fell back against the table laughing and commented, "This just _ain't_ Decker's day."

Though for some reason _she_ was suddenly starting to feel better.

* * *

"Boy that must be _some_ fire," Murdock said to B.A. as they looked out the window and saw that the traffic down below was still at a standstill and there were still flashing lights everywhere.

"If it _was_," B.A. told him, "They'd have evacuated all these buildings, _this_ one included."

"Well there's got to be _some_ reason nobody's going anywhere," Murdock said. Then the light bulb went off, he looked to the mud sucker and said, "You don't think it's one of Decker's traps, do you?"

B.A. shook his head, "Decker ain't that smart to involve hundreds of innocent bystanders."

"Good point," Murdock said. He put his hands in his pockets and wandered away from the window and paced around the room where they were all about going stir crazy. He went over to Hannibal who was seated in a chair reading the newspaper and without looking over the paper he asked, "Colonel, you got a minute?"

"Probably more than that, Captain," Hannibal said as he folded up the paper, "What's on your mind?"

"Ah…well," Murdock said as he sat on the arm of the chair, "It's that guy, Tony." He said the name like it was a disease.

Hannibal nodded, "I don't like it either, Murdock."

"Oh it goes beyond not liking it, Hannibal," Murdock tried to explain, "Stevi might be getting a good reading off of him but for the little bit I saw him…" he shook his head, "I don't think his karma's good, Colonel."

"Oh brother," B.A. grumbled, "Don't tell me the crazy fool's gonna start in on that too."

Hannibal placed a protective arm around Murdock and insisted, "There are more things in heaven and earth, B.A., who's to say there isn't something to it? You may note that every time previously when Murdock had a seemingly paranormal prediction or insight into something, he was always right."

"Especially when Decker came poking around," Murdock added.

"Oh that reminds me," Hannibal told the pilot, "You might call Jean later. She had a run-in with him today and sent him chasing his tail."

Murdock smiled proudly and said, "Aw, that's my girl."

"Yeah but in the meantime," Face said, "What about Stevi? Tony already knows she's here, he might come to see her again."

"Then we're just going to have to keep a close eye on her and make sure he doesn't get to her," Hannibal said, "I haven't tried my luck yet but I'd wager I could throw him about as well as I trust him. Though one thing in our favor…"

"What's that?" Face asked.

Hannibal gestured to the window, "That traffic jam downstairs is not letting up, since Tony was able to leave the hotel that means he's walking, and _how_ much trouble can Stevi get into with a pedestrian?"

"That just depends how far _out_ of the jam they can get," Face said.

"_Or_," Murdock added, "It could mean he's a guest in the hotel too."

"Hmm," Hannibal raised his eyebrows, "We didn't consider that one."

Face got up from his chair and said, "I'll go see if I can find out anything from the woman at the front desk, maybe get a look at the registry."

"Make sure that's _all_ you do," B.A. told him.

* * *

B.A. tossed and turned on one of the beds in their room and tried to sleep but the continuous sounds of one crazy fool out in the main room was keeping him awake. Now Hannibal had made it clear he didn't want B.A. drawing any unwanted attention to them by making a big scene as he usually did when Murdock did something the Sergeant considered annoying. Up to a point B.A. was willing to comply; he turned on his side and tried burying his head under the pillows, but there weren't enough to drown out Murdock's incessant ramblings. Finally he got up and went out into the main room and saw Murdock was on the phone. B.A. walked over to Hannibal and asked him, "What's the crazy fool doing?"

"Talking to Jean," Hannibal murmured lowly as he continued to read the paper.

B.A. couldn't make out what Murdock was saying, some kind of half English jibber-jabber he guessed, but whatever it was it sounded like he was saying, "Twa-twa, ducks ducks."

And they must've had a good connection because he could hear Jean on the other end saying into the phone, "I told you before you don't say it like it looks, it's twa-twa, de-a de-a."

"Twa-twa, ducks ducks."

"I told you before it's no ducks!" Jean told him.

"No ducks," Murdock said, "Twa-twa, de-a geese and _no_ ducks."

B.A. turned to Hannibal again and asked, "What the heck is that crazy fool talking about?"

"Just a little precaution incase Decker's listening in," Hannibal explained, "They don't want to say anything incriminating so they're just talking _to_ each other, not _about_ anything."

B.A. blinked a few times and shook his head, he needed to get some sleep, even for Hannibal that didn't make any sense. He walked past Murdock again to head back into the bedroom but stopped and turned back to the pilot as Murdock stopped talking completely and just started making a bunch of kissing sounds into the receiver. He grabbed Murdock by the neck and told him, "Say goodbye and hang up already, fool."

"_Goodbye_," Murdock croaked into the phone and hung it up.

Hannibal paid them little mind other than to ask, "How's she doing, Murdock?"

"Oh she's coming along steadily," Murdock answered.

The door opened and Face came in and said, "Well I figured out what's causing the traffic jam."

"What?" everybody wanted to know.

"Apparently we missed a loud CRASH earlier," Face said, "Three cars smashed into each other in the middle of the road earlier when people were trying to move out of the way of the fire trucks, the police and paramedics are still trying to get everything sorted out."

"Boy this is a _bad_ place to visit," Murdock said, "Must be all that negative energy."

"Don't you _start_ again, Murdock," B.A. warned him.

"What about Tony Bianchi?" Hannibal asked Face.

"Oh yeah…he's checked into a room three floors under us," Face answered.

"When'd he arrive?" Hannibal asked.

"About an hour after we all got here to meet Stevi," Face said.

"_Very_ convenient," Hannibal noted, "Means that he knew that Stevi's manager's got a separate room from her too, because I doubt he would've done that if Dave had been around."

"We're gonna have to keep an eye on him," Face said.

"We're gonna have to keep an eye on both of them," Hannibal corrected him.

Murdock raised his hand and said, "Colonel, I volunteer to take the first watch."

"What're you gonna do?" B.A. asked.

* * *

"How's this for ironic?" Jean asked as she looked down at V.C. who was un-bunching the bottom of her new nightgown she'd helped Jean into, "Murdock buys this thing, something that I'd _never_ get myself and would _never_ wear any other day of my life, and _he's_ not here to see me in it."

V.C. looked up and did a double take when she saw Jean only had one arm in it and the other half was hiked up like a toga. She stood up and helped Jean get into it correctly and commented, "I got one like this at home." Once Jean was finally in it the _right_ way, V.C. walked her back over to the bed and asked her, "Alright, so how long's it been since your last fix?"

Jean glanced at the clock as she got settled on the bed and said, "I think I took the last pills…about 24 hours ago. I was still _on_ them when Murdock and I went to bed last night, but that was the last of that."

"Okay," V.C. was counting on her fingers and said, "So that means by this time you can probably look forward to muscle twitches, hot and cold flashes, sore muscles, stomach cramping, loss of appetite, high blood pressure, elevated body temperature, heavy breathing and restlessness."

"Oh _hell_ V.C.," Jean said, "That means I've been going through withdrawal for 10 years before I ever even _took_ the stuff."

"How about insomnia?" she asked.

"_That_ one I'll grant you," Jean replied, "I _have_ done that one before, and if that's going to happen again, I'm _not_ looking forward to tonight."

"How long did it last the last time?" V.C. asked.

Jean tried to think, "_Three_ days and nights…I _think_. Murdock tried _everything_ to get me to sleep, _nothing_ worked."

"Obviously _something_ did or you'd be dead by now," V.C. told her.

Jean shook her head, "I don't remember…all I remember is waking up on the floor with him." She looked to the Vietnamese woman and said, "I sound like every other nag who ever got married…but I wish he was here, I _hate_ going through this alone. Even though I know there's _nothing_ that he'd be able to do if he was here."

V.C. stood by the bed and didn't say anything at first, just patted Jean on the head as if trying to sympathize with her.

"So where'd they go this time?" she asked.

"They're playing bodyguard to some crazy rock star," Jean said, "Stevi Faith."

"That chick?" V.C. asked, and scoffed, "Jimmy got all her records, she's a kook."

"Yeah and now she has my husband babysitting her," Jean replied.

"Oh ho," V.C. said mischievously with a devilish look on her face.

"Well anyway," Jean said as she folded her arms against her chest, "At least _one_ of us is out having a good time."

V.C. snorted and said as she sat down by the foot of the bed, "Can't be hard for Murdock, can it? The man's amused by sock puppets."

"That at least is understandable," Jean said tiredly and leaned back against the pillows, "Try an invisible dog."

"A _what_?" V.C. asked.

Jean pointed over towards the door and said, "Billy."

V.C. looked to the door and back to Jean and said to her, "Tell me again _when_ the last time you took those pills was?"

Jean just laughed and replied, "It's a _long_ story, V.C."

* * *

Everybody _knew_ that Stevi was going to try meeting up with Tony again, and it was just a matter of time; _also_ a matter of who would have the better luck getting to the other's room. Murdock had climbed back in through Stevi's bathroom window and was hiding out in the tub to see if he heard anything. He had been debating with himself _what_ he was going to do when and if Tony came back, and finally the idea came to him. It was _so_ crazy, _so_ outlandish, he decided it just _had_ to work, at least he _hoped_ it did. Well, he figured, if it could work for Buster Keaton, why not him?

Finally, his patience seemed to have paid off, he could hear the door opening outside and hear people talking again. He went over to the bathroom door and quietly opened it a crack and looked out and he saw that Tony Bianchi _had_ returned and he and Stevi were going around the room from the TV to the big double bed over to the room's private bar. Stevi picked up a cut crystal decanter of something and was pouring them a couple of drinks and Murdock decided now was the time to act, when they had their backs to him. He quietly opened the door and slinked out and slipped over to the main door and sneaked outside, but didn't fully close the door behind him. He waited a couple of seconds, then gripped the knob, pushed the door open and stepped in.

Now he could see them better, Stevi was dressed for the night in a pair of light blue silk pajamas and gold slippers that altogether made her look like a genie. And Tony Bianchi was a man who appeared to be somewhere in his late 20s, was about as tall as Murdock, only slightly heavier and had a head full of dark hair and a late 5 o' clock shadow that could match. And _he_ was dressed for the night in blue jeans, a black leather jacket and a purple button-up shirt. Maybe Stevi _had_ met him in a health food store but there was something about the guy that didn't seem kosher to Murdock.

He slammed the door shut and they turned to see him, they both looked shocked but for different reasons.

"Murdock!" Stevi exclaimed.

Tony turned to her and asked, "Who is this?"

"Stevi, darling!" Murdock went over to her with open arms, "I got your call, I came as soon as I could, oh darling!" He threw his arms around her and kissed her, taking her totally by surprise, _and_ her boyfriend as well.

He felt the man's hands on his shoulders trying to pull him back from Stevi, but he persisted and made sure Stevi couldn't get a word in edgewise either. He just kept kissing her and anytime they had to break for air he talked over her murmuring a variety of sweet nothings and terms of endearment, everything, "Oh darling" or "Oh baby" or "Oh sweetie".

Stevie's slippers had no traction and her foot slipped out from under her and she started to fall back in his grip, but Murdock refused to break the kiss so he went down with her and more or less wound up pushing her flat against the floor and continued to kiss her repeatedly. He felt Tony's hands on him again and this time he found himself getting yanked to his feet.

"Who the hell are you?" Tony asked.

Murdock looked at him and wouldn't answer, and said only, "I'm with _her_." He was sure it was going to start something up and if Tony became violent, at least they'd have a reason to restrain him and maybe tie him up somewhere and get to the bottom of this once and for all.

But to Murdock's surprise, Tony said nothing in response to that, only got a weird look on his face and moved for the door and left. Well, it wasn't _quite_ how he'd planned it, but at least it got them rid of Tony for the moment.

After the door closed, Murdock realized Stevi was still lying on the floor, so he knelt down to help her up.

"You alright, Stevi?" he asked as he took her hand and pulled her up to a sitting position.

"Oh…wow…" Stevi said as if she was trying to get a handle on what had just happened, "What was that about?"

What could he tell her? "Well I just thought we'd test the waters and see what kind of reaction we could get out of Tony, he doesn't seem to be the possessive type like Woody."

Stevi half cupped her chin in her hand but she was more tracing her thumb and index finger along the sides of her mouth. Murdock wasn't sure what to make of the look on her face but it looked like something along the lines of just having your mind blown. She reached up and grabbed Murdock and told him, "That was amazing, man."

Uh-oh. Now Murdock realized he'd gotten himself into a fine mess, and ironically it seemed more like the kind Face tended to get _himself_ into.

"Oh, well…" Murdock started to say, trying to think of _some_ way to respond to that.

Stevi pressed a hand against his chest and asked him, "Tell me something, Murdock, do you believe people are supposed to be exclusively monogamous?"

_Uh-oh_, Murdock felt his eyes bug out a bit when he heard that question. He thought back to Tony's sudden and unusual retreat without question or confrontation, and he remembered Stevi saying that her relationship with him was the most _open_ one she'd ever had, and Murdock was starting to get scared that he knew _what_ that meant.


	13. Chapter 13

Murdock tried to think of what to say but all he managed to get out was, "Uh…look, Stevi…" before she pounced on him and he found himself knocked to the floor with her on top of him kissing him.

Murdock was trying to think of a civilized way to bring this to an end and get Stevi off of him when the door opened and he could hear Face exclaiming, "What in the _hell_?"

Hannibal joined Face at the door a couple seconds later and asked, "What's wrong, Face?" before he realized _what_ the Lieutenant was looking at.

Face turned to Hannibal and said sarcastically, "I'm not sure but I think Stevi's attacking him."

Hannibal scratched the side of his head momentarily before he and Face went over to, if need be, pull Stevi off of the pilot.

"Alright, Miss Faith," he told her, "That's enough theatrics for one day." He and Face each took a hand and pulled her up.

"Now, would somebody care to explain _what_'s going on around here?" Hannibal asked.

Murdock raised his hand as he rolled on his side to get to his feet, "I think I can explain it, Colonel."

"This ought to be interesting," Face said.

"Alright, Captain," Hannibal told him, "We're listening."

"Well," Murdock said as he stood up, "Tony came back and I thought that I'd pretend to be her boyfriend so, maybe he'd get riled up and we could catch him in the act in a fit of rage, or at the least, Stevi wouldn't be alone with him. But he just walked out of here, and…"

Hannibal was already waving it off and said, "That's alright, Murdock, we get the picture."

"Yeah, and I wish I didn't," Face noted.

Murdock sighed and tried to pull his cap down over his eyes. It was obvious that the pilot was experiencing a rare moment of wanting to shrink down to the size of a gnat and disappear from this awkward situation.

* * *

"Now Stevi," Murdock pulled the woman's hands off of him and tried to move away from her, "It's not that I don't like you, it's just…"

"Just what?" she asked, "You and I have perfect energy together, Murdock."

"Yeah I know we do, but," Murdock took a step back and stepped up on a table. He'd asked for a moment alone to try and better explain himself to Stevi, and he'd gotten it, and now he was wishing the guys hadn't left him alone with her. The minute the door shut she'd been all over him like an octopus.

"What about Tony?" Murdock asked, "You said he had good energy too."

"He does," Stevi said, "He and I aren't mutually exclusive, we have an understanding."

Murdock didn't doubt that.

"You mean you're alright with him seeing other women?" Murdock asked as he tried getting to the far back of the table.

Stevi grabbed him by his shirt and said, "You know most species of animals aren't biologically monogamous?"

"I thought you was a reptile," Murdock said as he pried her fingers off of his T-shirt.

"Most of them aren't either," she replied.

"Well how many other guys are you currently with besides Tony?" Murdock asked.

"No one presently," she said, "Doesn't mean I don't like to keep my options open."

"I see," Murdock said as he lightly toed her with his sneaker to make her get back, "But Stevi, this can't work between us."

"Why not?" she asked, "We're totally in sync, you're a man, I'm a woman…"

"Yeah, but I'm engaged," Murdock told her.

"So?"

"_Happily_," Murdock explained, "And if she was here right now she'd probably rip your arm off and beat you to death with it." He reached in his jacket pocket and took out a silver band and said to Stevi, "See this? This is my engagement ring," he pulled out his Captain Midnight decoder ring and said, "And this is my other engagement ring." He reached over and picked up his bag and opened it up and took out a framed photograph and showed it to Stevi and said, "And here's her picture, see?"

Stevi looked at the photo, and then held it up right in front of her face like she was myopic, and pulled it back and looked at it from a distance again. Of all the pictures Murdock could've picked to take of Jean so he could see her every day while he was gone, he'd had one framed of Jean with her hair buzzed short and dressed in her soldier greens from when they'd been fooling around in between shots for a war movie she had a bit part in. Obviously he had to be proud, it wasn't every woman that could pull off posing with an M16 as naturally as if it was an extension of her own body, dirt caked on her face, one of her steel toed boots mounted on the back of a fallen enemy soldier, and a big grin on her face, and looking like she actually belonged there. Change her hair to white and stick a cigar between those teeth and she'd almost look like Hannibal.

"Oh wow," Stevi said, some of the air going out of her balloon as she looked at the picture, she looked up at Murdock and said, "She's _cute_."

"Yeah, she's a real sweetie," Murdock said as he took the picture back, "She 'n I been together for over a year now."

"_Exclusively_?" Stevi asked.

Murdock nodded.

"Oh _wow_," Stevi said as she fell back in a chair.

Murdock decided it was safe now to step down from the table and as he did, he told her, "It's not you, Stevi, you're a _very_ nice lady, and I like you…it's just…I'm already involved and it just wouldn't work with us." He took a chance and put his other foot back on the floor and moved over to her chair and said, "But there's no reason that _we_ can't be friends."

She looked up to him and said with a small smile, "I'd like that." She glanced over at the picture again and asked, "So what's her name?"

"Jean."

Stevi nodded slowly and said, "Good vibes with a name like that. How'd you meet?"

"Uh…she was a case."

"You mean a client?"

"No, her parents hired us to find her when she'd gone missing, we all got off to a rocky start, took her a while to warm up to all of us."

"So when did you two…"

"Well we got married a year ago," Murdock told her, "But that was short lived, so we've been kind of rebounding after that."

"For a year?" Stevi asked.

Murdock just giggled and said, "We've been having a nice time separately together." He turned somber as he added, "She…was in a car wreck a few days ago, she's at home recuperating now."

"How bad is it?" Stevi asked him.

"Enough," he answered, "She got lucky, nothing broken, but…I feel bad for leaving her."

Stevi reached over and poked him and asked him, "So if you're as tight with her as you say, why'd you kiss _me_ earlier?"

"Well…" he looked sheepish about it as he said, "Like I said, I wanted to see _what_ Tony's reaction would be…and…" he looked down at the floor and ground the toe of his sneaker against the carpeting as he explained, "I just closed my eyes and pretended you was _her_, made it a bit easier." The look on his face became more serious as he said to himself, "I wonder how she's doing now?"

* * *

If Jean ever got any sleep tonight, she'd be surprised. She'd been laying in bed with the lights off for the better part of an hour now and still couldn't sleep. Of course she didn't need the lights on, she'd pulled the blind up to see out into the night, and the street lamp at the corner offered plenty of illumination into the room for her. Total darkness was overrated. People liked to think that there was something wrong with you if you needed a light on to go to sleep. But…anybody who'd ever slept with a digital clock or a VCR in their room knew that you were never in _complete_ darkness, so what difference did it make?

Murdock preferred having a light on if he had a say in the matter, she remembered that. You could say what you wanted about his reason _why_, officially he said it was so he didn't kill himself tripping over something in the middle of the night to get to the bathroom. And she'd about broken both of her big toes on the bedstead plenty of times on the way back in the night to see the logic in that. At Christmas he'd strung a string of tree lights around the window frame so they could see each other at night. After Christmas when the decorations all came down, he'd fought to keep the lights in the window. He'd talked about how winter was the most depressing time of the year, _even_ in California, because it stayed dark for so much longer, and out _here_ away from the city side of L.A., away from all the lights, it was especially painfully obvious. It was nothing, she assured him, to winter in New York, if you wanted to talk about depressing; darkness was one thing, bundle it in with extreme cold, snow and plenty of ice to slip and fall on and crack something, that took the whole cake. The snow and ice could last so long that by the time the sun finally came back out, you didn't even recognize it anymore; more than one spring Jean found herself staring up at the bright sun and the deep blue sky in _awe_.

The older she got, the easier it was to understand _why_ in ancient times at Halloween, people feared that once the sun went down in the fall and approaching winter, it might never return and the world would stay dark and cold. In more recent times she'd found herself wondering the same thing on more than one occasion. In the end, Murdock had agreed to give up the lights, but he refused to give in, he merely replaced them with a string of luau pineapple and palm tree lights and put them in the window instead; he figured that way they could stay up all year, Jean could hardly argue with that. The truth of the matter was she liked the lights too, especially on those nights when she dreamt she was back in the freezer. There had been no light in that giant meat cooler, she'd been left to freeze to death in the dark. If the lights were on when she woke up, then she instantaneously knew that it was only a dream and in the past now.

This is how you spent the night when you were too hopped up on drugs, or the withdrawal thereof, to sleep. You just lay in bed thinking things to yourself that even if you _weren't_ a newly convert insomniac, you'd still never get to sleep because your brain never shut down _or_ shut up for the night. Still, it was a better way to pass the time than most options. Once again she tried turning every which way on every side possible, to a certain extent she could get comfortable but not enough that she'd actually be able to fall asleep. Oddly enough she didn't feel tired, she didn't feel _fully_ awake either, but she wasn't tired. Oh well, if you were going to be up all night, that was the way to do it, she supposed, still it seemed a bit weird to her. Of course she'd slept for a while after Decker had left…and she regretted now doing that, she wish she'd stayed awake when he and Crane had come to the house because there was something she wanted to talk to him about. Oh well, it would have to wait until the next time, assuming there _was_ a next time.

Jean found herself scratching just above her elbow as she tried to think back to how many confrontational encounters she'd had with Decker over the past year or so now. The man was largely talk, and also largely self assertive, she had to give him points for that one. Unlike Lynch, he didn't always have to travel with a pack, he'd proven several times that he had no problem coming after the A-Team single handedly, or least of all without that parade of dunderhead MPs. She tried to think, of course the first beatdown she'd taken from the Army was the MPs with Lynch when they thought she was Murdock. She wondered if she might be able to make a comeback with _that_ act, but then her mind focused on something else. Last year, when Decker had been temporarily replaced with that Colonel Briggs, _he_ had been the one that knocked her down on the pavement, no major damage but _enough_, another trip to the hospital, another road trip with Decker and his man Friday, er, Crane. Decker…Decker…strictly speaking she couldn't right off hand recall a time he ever put his hands on her, though he'd threatened to a few times when she got him going. So _that's_ why Murdock was always tantalizing B.A., she realized with a small smirk, it was _fun_.

Decker…her problems with him were largely just a matter of association, he was a problem for the A-Team, therefore he was a problem for her, and she in turn became a large problem for him. Sounded like a nice roundabout way of dealing with matters. Aside from that time he forced her into their car at gunpoint, she couldn't really think of any time he'd gotten rough with her. Or maybe _she_ was suffering from intermittent memory loss. Okay, so he _grabbed_ her a few times but that didn't count for anything, she didn't care what anybody said, that wasn't _assault_, and if it was, then the law was in dire need of changing. Either way…the man was a hardheaded jackass, but they _did_ have a history and it wasn't _all_ bad. It was actually scary to think of all the times that they'd actually managed to work together, even if it was only short term, even if it _was_ with Decker groaning about it the entire time. The fact remained that he and she had some unfinished business, and as soon as she was able to take more than four steps without something on her being hit with a thousand needles of pain, she was going to have a word with him.

* * *

Stevi had been tossing and turning in her bed trying to sleep. The accident in the street down below had finally cleared up, but there was still a whole mess of people around trying to figure out what had happened, and Hannibal hadn't wanted to chance moving until tomorrow morning when the excitement would have finally died down. This was nuts, she'd been cooped up in the hotel all night, and had been ordered to turn in early so they could get out first thing in the morning. But she knew there wasn't any way she was going to get any sleep. She sat up in her bed and looked around the dark room and glanced over to the bedroom window and her eyes bugged open and a breath caught in her throat. Against the backdrop lights from the city outside, a silhouette of a man was cast against the curtains covering the window. Stevi quietly jumped out of bed and ran for the door and pulled it open and came face to face with another man.

Stevi let out a small scream before she realized that it was Hannibal, who just smiled coyly and said only, "Problems, Miss Faith?"

"There's someone outside my window!" she told him.

Hannibal cast a small glance to the window and said nonchalantly, "Oh yeah, _that_, well that is Lieutenant Peck, Miss Faith."

"What?" she asked.

"If somebody wanted to snatch you up and hold you for ransom or _other_ reasons," Hannibal explained, "It would be very easy to creep into your bedroom at night after everyone's gone to sleep. So we're going to keep a watch posted here all night to make sure that doesn't happen, one of us will be on that balcony all night, and someone else will be here outside the door."

"What if someone sees _you_?" Stevi asked.

"Then I do my fine imitation of a passed out drunk who couldn't find his room," Hannibal answered with a knowing smirk.

Stevi slowly shook her head from side to side and said only, "_Radical_, man."

"Now go back to sleep," Hannibal told her, "We're getting out of here at first light. Night-night."

He pulled the door shut and left her standing there for a moment, completely dumbstruck. She turned to look back to the window and watched the silhouette as it barely moved. She wasn't sure about this, but, it didn't seem that she had much choice. Slowly, she padded back over to her bed and climbed into it and crawled under the covers and tried to get to sleep. But the minutes passed and she couldn't sleep, somehow having Face out on the balcony didn't make her feel anymore secure. She didn't know why but for some reason she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. After a few more minutes of tossing and turning on the bed, she heard a low creaking sound and rolled on her side and saw her closet door opening and saw a figure start to emerge from it. She got up on her knees and was ready to make a run for it when she recognized who it was.

"Murdock!"

"Shhhh," he lifted a finger to his lips.

"What're you doing here?" Stevi whispered.

"Well you can't be _too_ careful, now can you?" Murdock asked, "This way even if somebody _would_ manage to get past Hannibal out in the hall _or_ get past Faceman on that balcony, they'd still have to go through _me_ to get to you."

It took a minute for this to register with Stevi but once it finally did she looked at him in awe and said, "Far out, man."

Murdock tiptoed over to the bed and sat down on the foot of it and said, "Too bad we couldn't sneak you on over to our room, that way I could sleep in this bed and if somebody managed to get in, they'd think _I_ was _you_. Then they'd definitely be in for a rude surprise."

"You _really_ think somebody's going to try busting in here?" Stevi asked.

"Well we don't know, but why take a chance?" Murdock asked.

* * *

Face had only been off watch and asleep for an hour and a half when Hannibal got everyone up in the morning to move out. They'd gotten their stuff packed up, left the hotel, and took off for the house and managed to make it out there without incident. As soon as they got in the front door they all collapsed on the furniture in the living room. Face picked up one of the throw pillows off of the couch and buried his head in it and tried to go back to sleep. He and B.A. were both exhausted to the point of just about succumbing to unconsciousness, but Murdock and Stevi were annoyingly wide awake and acting like everything was just hunky-dory. In fact, Face realized in horror, they were _singing_. He lowered the pillow from his face and watched the two half walk, half dance across the floor as they went to check out the kitchen. He grumbled to himself and threw the pillow behind his head and he turned to look at B.A. and said, "Boy I _never_ thought I'd see the day I'd wish Jean was here, at least she's not this _annoying_, at least I hope she isn't."

B.A. growled and replied, "If she is, least she got the sense not to do it when _we_' around."

"Amen to that," Face remarked as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"Alright," Hannibal said, "It's obvious that _nobody_ got much sleep last night." He went over to the front window and looked out, "Everything looks status quo here…I doubt we have anything to worry about at the present time, so everybody just flake out for a while."

"Sounds good to me," Face said as he stretched his upper body out and immediately became dead to the world.

B.A. grumbled something that might've been a 'me too' except it was too garbled and in a few seconds he was out like a light as well.

"Well I can't sleep," Stevi told Murdock, "Last night threw my whole bio clock out of whack having to go to sleep before 3 o' clock in the morning, totally inhumane, man."

That got Face's attention to rouse him from sleep long enough to ask her, "Your _what_?"

"Oh I _know_ what you mean," Murdock told her, "Just like at the V.A., _every_ morning up at 5, breakfast at 7, you get out on a weekend pass, come back, go to sleep too late, too early, it just throws the _whole_ schedule of the day off and you can't function properly."

"Fine, Murdock," Hannibal told him, "Then _you_ can keep an eye on things for a couple hours while everybody else gets some rest."

Murdock snapped to attention, knocked his heels against each other as he stood straight and saluted, "Yes sir, Colonel. Oh uh," he stood at ease and asked Hannibal, "Would it be alright if I made a phone call?"

"I don't see why not," Hannibal told him, "Nobody knows we're here, nobody could _possibly_ be tapping this line."

"Oh thank you, Colonel," Murdock said.

* * *

Jean felt the lukewarm water shut off and stop pouring down her hair, and as she felt a set of hands wringing her short locks out, she commented, "This is one of the _weirder_ experiences I've ever had."

V.C. dried her hands on a towel and asked, "What's the matter, didn't you ever wash your hair in the sink?"

"Oh _sure_," Jean said, "But I mean like _this_. My mother did this with me a few times when I was a kid, but then I outgrew our kitchen counter."

V.C. laughed as she tossed the dish towel back on the table and grabbed Jean to help her slide off the counter. They'd stayed the night, and it was a short night for everybody because nobody really slept. Helping Jean _up_ the stairs to her room the night before had been a job in itself, but helping her _down_ the stairs this morning was an even bigger challenge. She still had noticeable trouble walking regularly but she seemed to be over the worst part of the withdrawal now and everybody was glad about that.

As Jean's weight shifted to the floor as she actually put some weight on her feet again, the movement had pulled her shirt down initially and V.C. looked at her and asked, "Hey, where'd you get those beauty marks from?" and pointed to the scars on her chest just before the shirt she wore bounced back to its original fit.

Jean pulled the low cut neck of her shirt down and took a look at her scars. V.C. leaned in for a closer look and asked, "What is that, .50 caliber?"

Jean looked at her and asked, "How'd you know that?"

"You don't _want_ to know how I know _half_ the stuff I know," she replied.

Jean let the material snap back into place and said, "You know it's funny, I've had these things for 2 years now, and everybody said that sooner or later they'd stop being so noticeable, I never believed it but…I don't even remember when the last time I was I _noticed_ them."

"You're getting used to them," V.C. said, "It happens to everyone."

"I guess so," Jean replied, and groaned as she buried half her face behind a hand and grumbled to herself, "Broke that mirror…and for what?"

Tommy came into the kitchen dragging the telephone receiver by its very long cord to the point it was about to snap, and he had his hand wrapped around the mouthpiece and said, "It's for you."

"Who is it?" Jean asked.

"Sounds like Murdock."

"Murdock?" Jean marched over to him and took the phone from him and said into the receiver in their established gibber code, "Voulez vous twa-twa de-a de-a."

She could hear Murdock chuckling and he said, "Don't need to bother with that, Saint, we're moved out now, now we're safe at our hideaway, the phone's fine now."

"So how's it going?" Jean asked.

"Everybody's crashing, we didn't sleep much last night," he replied, "How're _you_ doing?"

Jean answered him, "Ain't slept but aside from that I'm doing alright."

"Well you just take it easy and I'll be back soon to keep an eye on ya," he told her.

Jean wanted to say _something_ in response but she couldn't think of anything. Her eyes burnt from too many hours spent awake, her reflexes were slow, but she managed a tired smile and said into the phone, "Alright, Murdock." Though the thought entered her mind, she couldn't even drudge up the energy to tell him 'I love you'.

* * *

After spending the night standing guard in shifts, now everybody was taking turns sleeping in shifts. First Face, Hannibal and B.A. slept for a few hours, then when they were up and found that Murdock hadn't burnt the house down yet while they were out of it, Stevi and Murdock retreated to their own rooms for a little shut eye. And a few hours later they both woke up and emerged just as the sun was starting to go down. It had been an _off_ day for all of them.

"You just about missed dinner, Captain," Hannibal said as the two entered the kitchen, he handed Murdock a plate to dish up.

"Thanks, Colonel," Murdock yawned.

"So how long is this going to go on for?" Stevi asked.

"How," Face yawned too, it was contagious, "How long is _what_ going to go on for?"

"Staying _here_," Stevi said, "I feel like a bird stuck in a cage, if I don't get out of here soon."

"I might remind you, Miss Faith," Hannibal interjected, "That the whole reason we're here in the first place is because you and your manager were worried about what your ex-boyfriend would do to you if he got to you."

"But he's not going to get me out here," Stevi said.

"Well…" Face started to say.

Stevi looked at him, and then back to Hannibal, who explained, "We didn't go out of our way to advertise we were coming here, but all the same I expect Woody will show up sooner or later. He's a problem that _must_ be dealt with directly, that way he won't be a problem anymore once the authorities have him."

"But how?" Stevi asked, "They wouldn't do anything before."

"Ah," Face told her, "But that was before _we_ came along to add our little touch to it. We have a way of getting their attention that most people just don't possess."

* * *

After dinner, everybody had gotten settled in the living room and all sat down in their own section to either watch TV or read the evening paper or just withdraw into themselves. Stevi had pulled her shoes off and folded her legs over each other and made a bunch of weird sounds as she seemed to be meditating. Murdock tried to do the same thing, but a whole different set of sounds came out of him and it had everybody looking at him like he was a mutant animal or something. So he decided meditation wasn't for him and he got his legs out of the pretzel he'd put them in and started to put his shoes back on.

"Do you do that often?" Hannibal asked Stevi.

"Oh it's _very_ relaxing," Stevi told him, "It does wonders for the spirit, you should try it sometime."

"No thanks," Hannibal replied, "My spirit's just _fine_ thank you."

Stevi turned to Face and started to ask him and he replied, "No thanks, I don't think I'm that limber."

Murdock had decided to call the house again and see how Jean was doing and got up from the couch and went over to the phone on the wall in the dining room.

"I guess it was too much to hope he could go one day without calling her?" Face asked Hannibal.

Hannibal took a slow drag off of his cigar and remarked, "If she hadn't been smashed to hell in that car wreck, _maybe_, but Murdock wants to make sure she's alright while she's alone."

"She's not _alone_, Hannibal," Face told him, "She's got the 7 Stooges at the house watching her."

"For how long though?" Hannibal asked in response.

The first part of Murdock's call had been muffled over their own talking, but after that Murdock started to get louder, and it didn't sound promising. "Jean…hello? Jean, can you hear me? Jean? Are you alr…are you crying, hon? Jean? Hello?!" he started hitting the disconnect buttons on the switch hook.

Hannibal got up from his chair and went over to the pilot and asked, "What's the matter, Captain?"

"I don't know, I can't get her," Murdock told him, "She's not talking."

"Here, give it to me," Hannibal said as he took the receiver from Murdock and put it to his own ear, "Hello, Jean?"

"Hello?"

"Virginia!" Hannibal said, "What the hell's going on over there? Where's Jean?"

"She's right here, Hannibal," she answered.

"Well put her on."

He could almost hear her shaking her head, "Sorry, no can do."

"And why _not_?" Hannibal wanted to know.

"Because she finally conked out, that's why not," V.C. told him, "She was up all night, if she's going to sleep now I say _let_ her sleep."

"Is she alright?"

"Oh sure, she's fine, we've been here with her _all_ day," she answered in a tone that, coming from anyone else would've meant that there was trouble.

"You're hiding something, what is it?" Hannibal asked.

"_Nothing_," she insisted mischievously, "Everything's fine…Jean's just sleeping like a baby, and when she wakes up I doubt she's gonna have a worry in the world."

V.C. turned to look at the younger woman sleeping on the couch; Jean was on her stomach with her arms raised over her head on the pillow and dead to the world, she was covered with a light sheet but the bottom half of it was weighted down by stacks of $100 bills that had covered Jean clear up to her back.

* * *

About an hour later, Jean was awake again and able to talk on the phone, so she called the A-Team back and, with V.C. helping her hold the phone in place, explained to the others what had happened.

"You remember that amusement park that I said I wasn't going to sue?" she said to Face, "Turns out I didn't have to. They sent a lawyer out here today."

"What for?" he asked.

"He wanted to talk about a cash settlement to compensate for my injuries," Jean said, "Apparently they figured since they hadn't heard anything out of me since the accident that I was planning to get a _really_ good lawyer and come out of nowhere and hit them with a massive lawsuit."

"Well that's overestimating, isn't it?" Face asked.

"Well you'd _think_ so," Jean said, "_Except_ when the guy came into the house, I had my shirt hiked up and was getting a Deep Heat treatment for some of my sore spots. Incidentally, Face, have you seen my back since the wreck?"

"Can't say I have," he replied.

"Well I guess it must be pretty bad because when the lawyer stepped in he about threw up when he saw it," Jean explained, "See, he didn't know that these bruises _weren't_ from me being tossed out of the ride. He doesn't know that I was in a car crash, so he especially wanted to see if we could reach an agreement without having to go to court."

"So how'd that work out?" he asked.

"We debated on the amount for a while, but I don't remember _how_ the debate went because I was so tired, I just kept slipping in and out of consciousness, but by the time I woke up the last time, I had a check in my hand for $20,000."

"_Only_ $20,000 when you're that banged up?" Face asked, "Did you show him your legs?"

"Well we decided it was a reasonable amount since nothing was broken," Jean pointed out.

"Well true," he said.

"Anyway, I was able to get up and about long enough once he'd gone to take the check and get it cashed."

"You mean you got the whole 20 grand in the house with you?" Face asked.

Jean didn't answer, but he swore he could hear her nodding. Face could almost _feel_ something changing over the lines, he handed the phone to Hannibal to see what he thought of it.

"You there, kid?" he asked.

"Yeah I'm here," Jean replied.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

She seemed to be struggling with that question briefly before she told him, "I wasn't going to sue the place…I didn't want their money."

"Well they don't need to know that," Hannibal said, trying to cheer her up.

"_Why_ did I take it?" she asked, more to herself than to him.

"Why ask why?" Hannibal asked her, "Look Jean, you _did_ fall out of that car, that much is true, and you _were_ injured in the fall, now did this lawyer say anything about seeing a doctor's report?"

"No, I'm pretty sure my bruises spoke for themselves," she replied.

"So? Then what's the problem?" he asked, "With you laid up like this you're going to be out of work for quite a while, you can consider it an unofficial worker's comp."

"I suppose so," Jean said distantly.

Hannibal listened to her moan and sigh and yawn and told her, "You just need to get some sleep, then you'll be able to look at this whole thing better in the morning."

"I've been trying, believe me," she said, "So far nothing's worked."

Hannibal thought about it and asked her, "How long's it been since you took your pills?"

"About 48 hours," Jean told him, "_Not_ really enough time to take anything else, is it?"

Maybe it was, but Hannibal wasn't comfortable taking that chance when they weren't there. "You just hang in there, kid, you'll beat it."

"I _know_ I will, it's just the waiting that's the worst," Jean said.

Hannibal handed the phone to Murdock and he and she conversed for a couple minutes in little more than senseless small talk since he could tell she was winding down. After they said their goodbyes, Jean hung up the phone and lay back on the couch. Her hands roamed around and latched onto one of the stacks of money from when she'd cashed the check earlier in the day. She flipped through all the bills and tried to figure out what she was going to do with the money. And then, an idea hit her.


	14. Chapter 14

Murdock lay on the bed in his room with his framed picture of Jean hugged against his chest as he gazed up at the lights in the ceiling fan. Oh he wished they'd get done with this mission soon and could go home. If Jean hadn't been in that wreck, he wouldn't feel so guilty about leaving her home. Of course there wasn't anything wrong with her last time, and the Cong soldiers got her. He shook his head, he couldn't think like that. It was seven months now and nothing like that had happened since. Absentmindedly he felt his fingers tighten and curl around the frame. He'd only spoke to her a couple hours ago, she'd been fine; tired, exhausted, but fine. And, he had to remember, she wasn't alone. She was far from alone, she had seven crazy Vietnamese people in the house with her, if _they_ couldn't keep her safe…well, he didn't want to think about that either.

He wanted to go across the hall and talk to Hannibal, but he wasn't sure that the Colonel would appreciate the late night visit. In the long run it would probably be better if he waited until morning, but he felt very antsy about it.

There was a knock at the door, surely Hannibal wasn't…

The door opened and Face stuck his head in and asked Murdock, "Alright if I come in?"

Murdock nodded and sat up on the bed, "Sure thing, Faceman, what's on your mind, muchacho?"

Face pushed the door open and stepped in wearing his pajamas and padded over to the bed and answered, "Oh, nothing much…just wondered if you wanted a little company?"

"Oh absolutely," Murdock said as he put Jean's photograph on the nightstand, "Say Faceman, _why_ did we have to get a house with 5 bedrooms anyway?"

"Well between you and me," Face said as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat back against the pillows, "I think Jean helped talk Hannibal into it, I think she wanted to make sure there was _no_ way you and Stevi would bunk together."

Murdock chuckled and said, "Oh Jean knows me better than that."

"Yeah well I hope Stevi does too," Face replied.

"Oh Stevi and I came to an understanding," Murdock assured him, "No worries there, oh Facial One."

"Well that's good, I'd hate to think what Jean could be like on the rampage if she thought you were cheating on her," Face said.

Murdock said to him, as if just now noticing it for the first time, "You two seem to be getting along better than you usually do."

Face felt his eyebrows raise up, he hoped it didn't show on his face how shocked he felt at that revelation. He'd managed to make it this far without Murdock finding out, he hoped his luck wasn't about to run out now.

"Uh…yeah, I guess we have."

Murdock smiled and said, "I _knew_ you two would come around sooner or later, it just took a little while for you two to get used to each other."

Face felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. That _should_ have been a reassuring statement but instead it just made him feel worse, and he groaned like he was going to be sick.

"What's the matter, Faceman?" Murdock asked, "You's looking a little green."

"Uh…Murdock, there's something I gotta tell you," Face said, might as well get it over with now, there wasn't any point in hiding it anymore, "That day that Jean and I were here and we got stuck in the basement after the earthquake…she and I got into a fight."

"Who won?" Murdock asked.

"Not that kind of fight," Face told him, "I…" he shook his head and told Murdock, "I didn't know that she was having another one of her headaches, I got mad and I just started yelling at her…"

"So what's new?" Murdock asked.

"You don't get it," Face said.

Murdock grabbed Face's hand in his and replied, "Oh sure I do…I told Amy a long time ago Jean just loves to push your buttons, see how far she can push you. You remember the time you hit her? She'd been building up to that one for _months_."

Face didn't know how to respond. "You seem to be taking all this frighteningly well."

"Faceman, what's the problem? Obviously she's not holding anything against you," Murdock said.

"She doesn't remember what I said to her, that's why," Face said.

"Oh _sure_ she does," Murdock replied, "She told me all about it."

Face turned to the pilot in disbelief, his eyes wide and his entire spine suddenly encased with pins and needles, "She _did_? When?"

"The night after it happened," Murdock answered.

"What?" Face looked like he might go through the ceiling, "Well why did she tell me she didn't remember it?"

"Because she didn't want you to feel guilty about it," Murdock answered as if it was the most logical thing in the world.

Face groaned and cupped a hand over his face for a few seconds before he said, "Murdock, I…I…"

Murdock held a hand up to cut him off, "Faceman, if Jean don't hold nothing against you, then neither do I, and even if she _did_, I still wouldn't, so don't worry about it."

He should've been relieved, but he couldn't stop himself asking, "How can you say that?"

"Because I know her, and I know you," Murdock said, "Come on, Face, you'd never _intentionally_ try to hurt a woman, even if she _didn't_ like you…_course_ that hasn't stopped you from making quite a name for yourself in the _unintentional_ category, like the time you smacked her, the time you choked her when you were sleepwalking and thought she was a Cong soldier…"

"Yeah I get it, Murdock," Face told him.

"Well?" Murdock shrugged, "We got through those incidents just fine, and I know she ain't blaming you for anything this time either, so what's the problem?"

"I don't know, I _don't know_," Face replied as he propped one arm behind his head, "Just seems that lately she's _especially_ been trying to push me."

"For example?" Murdock asked.

"Well, before the quake hit, we were screaming at each other and she started getting on my case about the women I'm involved with," Face said.

"Ah…" Murdock sound like he'd stumbled onto something, "And that hit a nerve?"

"I guess so, but I don't know why," Face replied.

Murdock inched closer to Face's side of the bed and said practically into the Lieutenant's ear, "Hannibal thought that you might be jealous of somebody?"

Face turned to him in shock, "He _told_ you? Does _anybody_ keep anything to themselves anymore or am I the only one left _out_ of everything?"

"Faceman you gotta admit it was getting a little obvious," Murdock said.

That stopped him cold in his tracks. "It was?"

Murdock nodded. Face turned away and grumbled something to himself, he didn't get it.

"Faceman, you worried about losing me?" Murdock asked.

"Don't be ridiculous," Face started to say as he turned his back to the pilot.

"Face, you know I ain't going anywhere," Murdock told him, "After I'm hitched you'll still know where to find me, and you _know_ that I _will_ be back to you guys' house too. Nothing's gonna change."

"They didn't invent marriage for things to stay the same," Face pointed out.

"Well true," Murdock said, "But nothing _major_ is going to change, it'll largely be just like it is now. Ohh…" he reached over and patted Face's hair like a dog and smiled as he watched Face jerk and swat his hands away, "Is that it?"

"Cut it out, will you?" Face smacked his hand away again and turned to look the other way.

Of course Murdock wasn't about to listen to him. He reached over and tried tickling Face behind the ear as he tantalized him as if he was calling a dog, "Oh Facey-wacey…." Face just jerked and elbowed him and tried moving further over to the edge. "Is that what it is, Face?" Murdock asked, half teasingly, and jabbed his finger into several places on Face's back as he asked, "Hmm? You feeling ignored lately?"

"Murdock, stop that!" Face told him as he hit Murdock's hand every time it got near him. But Murdock persisted, he could tell that Face was just about to bust something laughing but was still managing to restrain himself. Murdock threw himself on Face and pinned him down and stuck both sets of fingers up under one armpit and tickled him relentlessly until Face was rolling around under him howling like a banshee. After a couple minutes of that, Face finally managed to pull himself out from under the pilot and he told Murdock, "Stop it…" he was breathing heavy and his words were slightly slurred as he told Murdock, "I think I'm going to throw up."

Murdock got a couple more laughs out before he threw himself down on the bed alongside Face and told him, "If I've been neglecting you lately, I'm sorry, Faceman, but you should've said something. I thought you were still spending every night with something tan and blonde on your arm."

Face got a blank look on his face and his eyes seemed to stare straight ahead at the wall, or past it, and he asked Murdock, "Is that _really_ the type I always take out?"

"What?" Murdock asked.

He thought back to something Jean had said and asked, "Are all the women I go out with blondes?"

"Most of the time," Murdock answered, "Especially anymore, I don't know _how_ you tell them all apart, anymore they all look the same to me, all with the big hair and the long false nails and that heavy eye makeup and..."

"Huh…" Face gritted his teeth, "Maybe she wasn't entirely wrong."

"Who?" Murdock asked.

Face shook his head and said, "Nothing…forget it."

* * *

Hannibal had been making the rounds to make sure that everything was status quo and he noticed that Face's room was empty. Well, he had 3 potential ideas where the Lieutenant could be. His first stop was Stevi's room, and he was relieved to find that the rock star was alone, zonked out on top of her bed in a blue floral night gown with her headphones on and her Walkman blasting away all the while she was completely oblivious and unconsciousness. Hannibal backed out of the room and pulled the door shut behind him, and then headed over to Murdock's room.

As soon as he was in the door he was able to see two people in the bed. The light from the moon was pouring in through the window and he could see that it _was_ in fact the Lieutenant and the Captain, and they'd both fallen asleep on top of the covers like Stevi. Hannibal smiled to himself and backed out of the room. Well, that solved that puzzle, and it looked like these two were reestablishing the bond that they'd always had but more recently seemed to be waning between them.

B.A. was snoring loud enough that it sounded like an Air Force jet preparing to touch down, and that was _through_ the door. Hannibal wasn't tired, and even if he was, he knew that somebody would be paying the house a visit sooner or later, and _somebody_ had to be up and ready incase that happened. So he tiptoed down to the first floor and parked himself on the couch in the living room and went through the channels until he found an old horror movie playing. He looked at the clock on the wall: 2:15, he threw his head back and sighed. At least Jean wouldn't be the only one staying up tonight.

* * *

Tommy Trang came down the stairs and as he stood in the entranceway between the dining room and the living room he saw Jean asleep in the rocking recliner next to the couch. Well he'd be damned, she finally fell asleep, _about time_. He went over to the chair and shook her shoulder.

Jean grumbled something to herself and then started pushing him, saying, "Go away, 'Madhouse' comes on at 2, I want to see it."

Tommy looked at his watch just to confirm what he already knew and he shook Jean again and told her, "Jean, it's 7:45."

"What?" she asked as she picked her head up and rubbed her eyes, "It's morning already?"

"Guess you finally conked out after all," he said, "How do you feel?"

"Well I _don't_ feel like I slept," Jean said as she blinked several times, "Guess that's when you _know_ you did it the _hard_ way."

"So how much pain you in _today_?" he asked.

"I don't know," Jean gripped the arms of the chair hard as she pushed herself to stand, "I'll move around a bit and then get back to you." She turned to him and realizing they were the only two people in the room asked him, "Where is everybody?"

"In the rooms upstairs asleep," he answered.

"Hope they don't touch anything," Jean said, "Course the one to _really_ worry about is B.A. and his room's down here."

Jean's legs wobbled a bit and she started to go down a couple times as the knees bent unexpectedly, but she managed to stay on her feet and managed to straighten herself out.

"I gotta get better than _this_," she said. She looked down at herself and groaned, "Look at my legs. These bruises are _never_ going to go away, I'm going to be stuck like this forever."

"A while for sure," Tommy agreed, "You ever fall down one of those water meters in the ground?"

"No," Jean shook her head.

"_Those_ bruises can last for about a year," he said.

"Oh _swell_," she replied as she stumbled into the kitchen.

She managed to make it over to the fridge before she just collapsed against it and started to sink to the floor. Tommy helped her up and she grabbed hold of the handle and yanked the door open.

"Grim," she observed when she noted the contents inside, "The guys went to the store and picked up some things before they left that, I guess they thought it'd be easy for me to take in the living room and eat…but it's looking pretty bare again, of course with seven _extra_ people staying here I guess I shouldn't be surprised." Her legs started to give out again and she started to slink down again, Tommy grabbed her up again and this time propped her up against the side of the icebox.

"Thanks," she grumbled. She rubbed one eye and asked him, "You think that later today one of you guys could go with me out to the store? I need to pick up some stuff. A _lot_ of stuff, B.A. can easily eat about $400 worth of groceries by himself."

"That reminds me," Tommy said to her, "Have you figured out what you're going to do with that money?"

Jean nodded, "Yeah…yeah, I got an idea."

"What is it?" he asked.

* * *

V.C. let out a loud disruptive groan as she dropped the grocery bags she'd carried into the house and automatically fell back into a chair and said, "That does it, my spine's collapsed."

"Join the club," Jean said as she waddled in behind her carrying a couple bags herself.

"Remind me again," Stephen said as the guys came in behind them, "_Why_ you had to pick up all this stuff?"

Jean dropped her bags on the table and answered, "_Because_, every single time that I come into the money that I can afford to refill that big chest freezer, something _else_ always comes up that takes first priority. I got _one_ roast in that freezer dying all over again from loneliness, and an icebox that isn't far behind it."

"Yeah well now you got enough food to feed the army," V.C. told her.

"Suiting enough given that a lot of it gets divided between four Special Forces members," Jean said.

Lee brought up the rear and noted, "I've never seen _anybody_ go into a store and pick up 8 roasts, 10 steaks, 20 pounds of hamburger, 10 pounds of bacon, 10 pounds of pork chops, 2 racks of ribs, 7 packs of chicken breasts, 5 whole fryers, 30 pounds of potatoes…"

"Yeah, it's a _start_ anyway," Jean told him as she headed over to the back pantry.

"$500 worth of groceries," Jackie commented as everybody picked up the bags they'd brought in and followed her, "I'll bet that store's never seen such a haul before or since."

"Maybe if they have one of those Catholic couples with 10 kids…" Jason suggested.

V.C.'s hands were full so she kicked her brother in the seat and told him, "Shaddup Number One Son."

They got into the pantry and found out _why_ Jean had been dead set on getting so much food to put away. Billy kicked the side of the freezer and asked, "What is this, 20 cubic feet?"

"Close enough," Jean replied, "That's when near emptiness _really_ looks pathetic."

"Ah!" Jimmy said, "So _that's_ why after you cleaned out the meat section," he stepped back and came back pushing a grapefruit crate full of boxes of frozen food and piled them on top of each other and handed them to his brother in front of him as he went down the list, "Why you picked up all the frozen pizzas and frozen pies _and_ cakes _and_ the ice cream bars."

"What!?" Billy asked, "No bonbons?"

V.C. grabbed one of the frozen pizza boxes and beat Billy over the head with it and repeated, "Shaddup Number One Son."

"Well thanks for helping me," Jean told V.C., "There's _no_ way I could've gotten all this back here myself."

"That's for damn sure, it about filled up our whole truck," she replied, "And we _still_ have to go out and get all the canned stuff. How much food do you need to _keep_ on hand for those four chuckleheads?"

"Oh it's not just that," Jean said as she swung a large back of meat back to heave it over the top and into the freezer, and in turn wound up about heaving herself over the side. No wonder Murdock panicked when he caught her cleaning this thing. "It's a matter of security. I'm funny like that." She stood straight again and turned to the others as she explained, "Money is nice but you can't eat it. And personally," she picked up the bag of bacon and heaved it in as she added, "I find it very ironic that for the A-Team being 4 fugitives on the run from the military and _constantly_ on the run from Decker, ain't any of them missing any meals, though Murdock looks like he's about to starve to death."

"And you?" Tommy asked.

Jean turned to him and said, "I was out here 3 months before I ever met up with them again. I had enough money for the house, and enough to get by on for a while, I kept the rest stored away incase I needed it…until I found steady work as a stunt driver I went without a few things to make sure I had enough money." She pointed out to the fridge in the kitchen, "Like I told them when they first came out here, the mice were eating better than I was. When you have to you learn to stretch everything out as far as you can. One thing that's usually at an affordable price are those jars of those horrible green olives, try eating them all the time."

"Green olives aren't that bad," Jason said.

"Normal ones, no," Jean replied, "But I'm talking about those awful cheap salad ones that fall apart. A bowl of them can kill your appetite sure as anything. After a while you get sick from drinking in all the vinegar but it still beats going hungry. Now, it's one thing to starve alone, rich people call that dieting, but it's no way to live when you're going to be married, and have three other barracudas here all the time." She turned to V.C. and explained, "Back when you guys were hitting the grocery trucks it was hard as hell to get much of anything to put away. I always told Murdock _not_ to let on to Hannibal how bad it was. The guy didn't want me married to his Captain in the first place, what the hell was he going to say if he thought I was starving his pilot? Well," she jerked a thumb back towards the freezer and said, "He sure as hell can't accuse me of that now."

"Now?" Tommy parroted, "_Now_, you got enough food in there to last until the next Ice Age."

"Or two weeks with B.A. as a houseguest, whichever occurs first," Jean replied.

* * *

"Hannibal, you said that either Woody or Tony was going to follow Stevi out to this house," Face reminded the Colonel that afternoon, "And so far nobody's shown up to give us any trouble yet."

"And you're _complaining_ about that?" Hannibal asked.

"I…" Face stopped as he realized that he was, "Well where could these guys be?"

"Face, we've only been here a little over 24 hours," Hannibal said, "You're gonna have to be patient if you want someone to try and kill you."

"First it was those hicks out in the middle of nowhere, now this," Face said, "Boy, our line of work is sure making an unusual shift." He cringed when he heard Murdock and Stevi's voices traveling down the hall as they were singing again, and he told Hannibal, "And it's starting to get on my nerves."

Hannibal just chuckled and took out a new cigar. He went over to where B.A. was standing by the front window looking out through a pair of binoculars to see what was going on across the street.

"See anything, B.A.?" he asked.

"Not much," he shook his head, "Few people coming and going, nobody stick around to look and linger…Faceman picked the right place this time, _for once_."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Face asked.

The two of them had just started to get into it when Hannibal showed himself in between the two of them and spoke up louder than both of them, "Children, children _please_! Each of you go stand in your own corner," he chuckled over his cigar.

"Maybe _this_ is what they mean by being bored stupid," Face commented.

"You're just not used to this change of pace, that's all," Hannibal insisted.

"_Maybe_," Face said, "Exactly _how_ long do we plan to wait around here for?"

"As long as it takes," Hannibal said, "Sooner or later _somebody_ is going to show up for Stevi."

* * *

A couple days dragged on by and there was still no sign of anyone that might be coming for Stevi. For public appearances the five of them carried on with the act that they'd practically perfected their first day in the neighborhood. Murdock and Stevi continued to act like a set of twins, and in the morning and at night Murdock also called home to see how Jean was coming along. He, and in turn the rest of the guys, were nothing short of stunned when word got out that Jean was already heading back to work. She said that she was able to get around well enough for some background work in an army film she was doing, and they'd be filming late into the night and she wouldn't be home incase Murdock would call. By now everybody figured she must've had her own uniform reserved given how many times she'd done this already.

"Hannibal, don't you think if either of those guys was going to come out here of their own accord, they would've done it by now?" Face asked.

Hannibal nodded reluctantly, "Alright…so I was wrong."

"Can we get that in writing?" Murdock asked.

"Maybe we had this planned too well," Hannibal said, "No matter, that's only a minor setback."

"And _how_ would you propose rectifying it?" Face wanted to know.

"Very simply," Hannibal told him, and then went over to Stevi and told her, "I want you to do something, Miss Faith."

"What's that?" she asked.

"I want you to call your boyfriend and tell him to come here to see you, make up any reason, just tell him where you are and to get out here," Hannibal said.

Stevi had had a few days' experience with these guys and she was starting to get in tune with how they thought, and she eyed him suspiciously and said more than asked, "You don't trust him."

"Not really," Hannibal answered simply.

"You think," Stevi pulled her knees up to her chest where she sat on the couch, "You think he's in this with Woody?"

Hannibal merely shrugged and told her, "Only one way to find out, and if we're wrong, we're wrong, but if we're _right_, then you're better off finding out now."

Stevi looked down at the carpeted floor and said hesitantly, "Yeah, I suppose so." She about swallowed her bottom lip as she put her feet on the floor and stood up and went over to the telephone.

The men all stayed back and remained quiet as they listened to Stevi make a couple minutes' worth of small talk with Tony before dropping where she was and asking him to come out and see her. She wouldn't go into a lot of details but she did specify that she wanted to clear the air with him about a few things. He would be there tonight, and that's when things were going to get interesting.

* * *

Decker felt his eyelids started to get heavy and burn and droop. He opened his eyes wide and let them readjust to the overhead lights in his office. He looked to the clock on the wall and saw that it was going on 10:30, he should've been out of here hours ago. He pushed his chair back, stood up, stretched, listened to a couple things in his back pop, and started clearing away the files he'd been looking over to put away for another time. Curiosity had gotten the better of him and he'd found himself going through all his files and records again just to make sure nothing had been taken. And nothing was, but with that determined, he then found himself looking over everything to see what in it could've been so interesting for the A-Team to bust in and scavenge through.

There was a knock at the door, and without even stopping to think _who_ it could be he absentmindedly called out, "Come in."

But the knocking continued. Decker turned from facing his filing cabinet and said louder, "_Come in_!"

But again, the knocking persisted. Decker grumbled to himself as he marched over to the door and threw it open as he shouter, "I SAID COME IN!"

And in stepped Jean Rhodes in a standard MP uniform, helmet included, and she walked right past him and said in passing, "Hey Roddy, what's up?"

He turned his head and watched her as she walked over to his desk and he asked her, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I just thought I'd come and see if you were making any progress yet," Jean answered as she sat down in his chair and started picking up files, "Nope, don't look like nothing new here, just the same…" she gripped a few sheets of paper in one hand and shook them and watched as a triple folded pinup spread fell out and she cocked her head to the side and said sarcastically, "Well look at that…I guess there _is_ some red American men's blood running through your veins eh? Who knew?"

"Miss Rhodes, what the _hell_ are you doing here?" Decker asked as he went over to the desk and hovered over her.

Jean looked up at him and took her helmet off, "You know, Roddy, every time we see each other it's always only business, we never get a chance to just _talk_, so let's _talk_."

Decker just now noticed how she was dressed and asked her, "What'd you do? Knock out one of the MPs and hogtie him in a closet in his underwear?"

"Ah, no," Jean answered nonchalantly, "Actually," she stood up and turned around to show him, "This is my costume for a movie I just got done filming for the night, don't it look convincing though? It sure as hell fooled everybody out front."

"_Why_ are you here?" he tried again.

Jean moved to sit down but caught herself halfway to touching down in his chair and said, "You and me got some unfinished business we need to catch up on, remember?"

"_What_ are you talking about?" he wanted to know.

Jean sat down and took a drink from his glass of water and said, "Think back, Roddy, remember about a month ago, you, me and Crane racing out onto a runway in a jeep to blow holes into a DC-9 jet? But it got away, didn't it? It got away and one U.S. Army General Hunt Stockwell _got away_. He got away and I got a smashed up arm, a ricocheted graze _and_ a husband with a hole blown in his shoulder, you remember all that?"

"_What_ about it?" Decker asked.

"Stockwell's our unfinished business," Jean told him, "Don't you remember you agreed to keep your ears open for when he finally came back to his own country because one thing you and I have in common is we _both_ want this guy and preferably dead. Well it's been a month, Decker, where the hell is he? _Where_ is Stockwell?"


	15. Chapter 15

Jean had leaned back in Decker's chair and planted her size 7 standard MP uniform boots on his desk and right smack dab on top of his reports and made herself comfortable as she awaited his answer. Decker on the other hand didn't take kindly to _anybody_ trying to order _him_ around, least of all this woman.

He stood his ground and told her firmly, "I don't have to tell _you_ anything…"

He'd barely gotten the last word out before Jean swung her feet over the side of the desk to the floor and got to her feet. In two steps she was on him and the next thing Decker knew was he'd been slammed up against the wall and he felt something pressing against his throat. Jean had the collar of his jacket in one hand and she had her other forearm pressing against his neck, more specifically she had the metal band on the watch she was wearing pressing into his neck, if she kept it up long enough it'd make a fine impression in the skin and he could try explaining that one to everybody tomorrow.

"I say you _do_," Jean told him as he struggled with her, every time he tried to throw her off of him she pressed her arm harder against his throat, "You're as deep in this as I am, Roddy, don't pretend you're in any better position. You became an accessory _and_ accomplice the minute you got in that jeep with me, it's your head on the block as well." She dug the watch deeper in against his neck.

Decker choked and struggled with her, but it didn't seem to amount to much and he was already starting to see spots. He managed to get out, "Stockwell's been out of the country for a month, what's he to _you_?"

"Damn plenty," Jean said, and just like that she took her arm off his throat and knocked him back against the wall again. As he rubbed the sore spot on his neck and choked and coughed, she told him, "While we were out checking out that jet, Stockwell or one of his puppets took a potshot at Hannibal and hit Murdock instead. Do you know how much blood he lost before they even got him to a doctor? Almost a whole liter. Do you know how many stitches it took to close up the .30 caliber hole? Over 20. Whoever pulled that trigger, Stockwell's got blood on his hands…and I intend to take it back, in full and _with_ interest."

Decker glared at her and was able to see that she was actually serious.

"Crazy, you _really_ are," he muttered.

Now it was Jean's turn to stand her ground as she merely replied, "Blood will have blood. It's as simple as that, Decker. Now _what_ have you found?"

"Nothing," Decker told her, "So far as we are able to find out, Hunt Stockwell has not returned to the country since he left in June."

Jean cocked her head to the side and glared at him and said almost nonchalantly, "If I find out you're lying to me, that you had _any_ prior knowledge to his whereabouts, you're next on my list. There's nothing you or anyone else in the damn Army can do to me _now_ to make me fear whatever consequences you could cook up." She didn't give him much chance to respond to that, she merely went up to him and said into his ear without whispering, "You're _real_ dumb, Decker."

"And _how_ do you figure that?" he wanted to know.

"What've you found _out_ about Stockwell?" Jean asked.

Decker shook his head, "Not much."

"Is he DCI? Is he in the Agency?" Jean asked, "_Is_ he CIA?"

"Nobody knows that," Decker told her, "One way or the other."

"Either way," Jean told him, "You're dumb." She walked over towards the window and told him, "We can't keep tabs on Stockwell, but 5 will get you 10 he's keeping them on us. You _were_ aware, weren't you, that we're being watched?"

"What?" Decker noticed she was hinting towards the window and he went to it but she stopped him.

"Of course they're _so_ damn sure of themselves," Jean said, "They don't think we're onto them because intelligence is supposed to be _their_ field, not ours. But I've made sure whenever I came out here, the same man is always out there somewhere, just watching, and waiting. So I've been taking precautions to come out here. I also made sure to sweep the place when you were out, make sure it hasn't been bugged, so far you come up clean, so count your blessings on that one."

He turned to her and asked her, "You expect me to believe you?"

Jean just shrugged helplessly and reminded him, "You always have the option _not_ to." But it was obvious that one was easier said than done.

"_What_ would the CIA want with either of us?" Decker wanted to know.

"Not me," Jean shook her head, "I'm _nothing_ to them…_you_ on the other hand…"

"What about me?" Decker asked.

"Are you _really_ so blind?" Jean asked him as she walked up to him, "Everybody _knows_ your very purpose in life right now is to find the A-Team. So if _they_ are trying to find them…"

Decker was choking on a strangled laugh, "The CIA needs to track the Army to find the A-Team?"

"Just because they have 'intelligence' in their career title doesn't mean they actually practice it," Jean said.

"You can't even prove that Stockwell _is_ in the CIA," Decker said.

"Yes I can," Jean said, "All I have to do is find him."

Decker seemed amused by the sudden turn this conversation had taken and asked as he folded his arms to his chest, "_How_?"

Jean pointed an index finger to her temple and she told him, "They read minds, didn't _you_ know that?"

One thing Decker certainly wasn't known for was his sense of humor, so it was very out of place for him to even crack a smile, let alone laugh, but right about now he acted like he'd gotten an overdose of nitrous oxide at the dentist's office. Jean was annoyed, but it didn't matter, even if she _did_ tell Decker _how_ she knew that, she knew he'd never believe it. No matter, this may be a long night ahead of them but she had something surefire to shut him up _real_ quick.

"So nice to know you've got a good sense of humor to ya, Roddy," she said as she went over to him and slapped his shoulder, "Maybe that'll come in handy when Bullen brings down the order to replace you."

Decker wasn't laughing anymore, "_What_ did you say?"

"Oh so you haven't heard," Jean said, "You're being booted out again."

Now it was Decker's turn; two steps and he had Jean by the collar of her jacket and had her backed against the wall and he was demanding to know what she was talking about. Jean dug her nails into his hands to get him to loosen his grip and she told him, "You know, Bullen really ought to be more choosey about who he lets his wife hire to clean his house once a week, it's very easy for the walls to develop ears."

Decker was in the middle of going through the motions of slamming her against the wall when she grabbed hold of him and refreshed his memory, "Back, back, my back!"

How he could ever forget, he didn't know. He remembered the sickening sight _that_ had been when they'd been out to the house a couple days before and immediately let go of her. Jean stepped back over to his desk and sat down on the edge of it.

"This is how you react to bad news? And you were in the _army_?" Jean asked, and then, just to annoy the hell out of Decker she added, "It's no wonder Hannibal dumped you."

She felt a hand grab the back of her collar and heard Decker's voice asking, "What do you mean about Bullen?"

It wasn't anything she could say firsthand. She'd gotten it from a _very_ reliable source, V.C. She'd taken a job cleaning the good General's house once a week for the past few weeks, at his wife's assistance. Nice woman, but incredibly and stupidly naïve given her position as an army wife. But, all the more to work in their favor, what the Mrs. didn't know what wasn't going to hurt _anybody_, except her husband, which made it a win/win for everyone.

Jean slowly tilted her head back to look up at him and answered, "Just what I said, Bullen's getting rid of you and bringing in someone he feels is more competent to catch the A-Team. You know, they kept Lynch on for 10 whole years, you must rub _everybody_ the wrong way."

"_Who_?" the one word said it all for Decker.

Jean could appreciate the seriousness of the situation she'd just put herself in given Decker's notoriously bad temper, but she couldn't resist grinning from ear to ear as she pulled his hand away and said, "You're gonna hate this one. You're being outranked."

"By who?" Decker demanded to know.

Jean closed her mouth but couldn't get rid of the smirk as she held up one hand with four fingers extended.

"A _general_?" Decker asked.

Jean clapped her hands and gestured as if this was a game of charades. Then she got off the desk, started kicking one foot back against the floor and sounded like a disgruntled cow.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" Decker asked her.

Okay so apparently when Murdock got back he was going to have to teach her some better animal impersonations. She gave him an 'are you serious?' look and asked him, "Does the term 'Bull' mean anything to you?"

"No," he shook his head dismissively.

Jean rolled her eyes, "Guy's name is General Harlan 'Bull' Fulbright, does _that_ ring any bells?"

"No," Decker repeated.

"Why am I not surprised?" Jean asked.

"_When_?" was Decker's next question.

"Very soon obviously," she said, "He wouldn't have a replacement already picked out if he wasn't tossing you out soon, I'd say sometime within the next 24 hours."

Decker forgot he was in the presence of a woman, unusual one though she was, and let out a few choice words he had for the good General and started to storm off towards the door but Jean grabbed him and yanked him back.

"What the hell are you going to do, Roddy?" she asked, "March over there, bust into his house, drag him out of bed, terrorize his wife, kick him down the stairs?"

"Sounds good to me," he replied.

"Yeah all good and well, except _how_ are you going to explain to him that you found out you're being discharged?" Jean asked. And he stopped as he realized that. She let go of him and nodded condescendingly as she pointed out, "What're you going to do, tell him that you found out from a woman who's married to a member of the A-Team who has never been recognized for his part because he's been in the loony bin for 10 years? And _then_ Bullen's going to want to know _how_ you know me and _why_ I'm not in jail _or_ in any of your files about the A-Team, and _how_ are you going to explain that one? You can try telling him but do you _really_ think anybody's going to believe you? You think _anybody_ is going to be willing to believe that a simple little woman like _me_?" she milked the sarcasm in those words and the look on her face for all they were worth, "Could possibly be capable of causing half the damage you could tell them about?"

"They haven't met you, that's the only thing standing in the way there," he pointed out.

"Sure, but as soon as they did, they're gonna want to know why you didn't blow the whistle on me _long_ ago," Jean said, "_Especially_ once they find out about all the times I knocked you out, hijacked you, punctured your tires, crashed into you…"

Decker was starting to get depressed revisiting memory lane, and he told her to stop.

"And if word gets out that the A-Team has saved your life _not_ once but _twice_, what do you think they're going to say then?" Jean asked him, "Face it, Decker, you're in the same boat we all are and have always been in, there's nothing you can do, least of all if you want to do it straight. Now you're like me, you got plenty of blood on your hands for deeds from years past…so a little dirt to add to the mix shouldn't bother you."

Decker didn't even have to ask, it was obvious, just like Hannibal it was plain to see that Jean had a plan. Now, he didn't have a lot of experience in knowing first hand what Smith's plans were unless he happened to be on the receiving end of them, but he knew anything Jean could come up with would be far worse because she was out for blood and looking to bite. So he was surprised when she actually told him what she had in mind.

"You do something you've never done before in your life, bow down gracefully, accept defeat, don't make a scene, and you go home and you lay low a few days," Jean told him, "We'll assume that the Agency _is_ trying to find the A-Team, we don't know why, but it's hardly beyond the realm of possibility. _Somebody's_ got a man staked out here to find out where they are. You're not in charge anymore, they won't be looking at you, tossed out on your ear you won't have any authority or manpower, you won't have anything they'll be interested in. _Let_ them bring Fulbright in, it won't matter, he doesn't know where the A-Team is either and he won't be able to find them, so the CIA _still_ doesn't get their men."

Decker still wasn't convinced though, "_Why_ would the CIA want the A-Team?"

"Who knows?" Jean asked, "Maybe so they can blackmail the Team into doing their dirty work for them."

He looked at her like she was nuts, "You expect me to believe that?"

"Why not?" Jean threw her arms up and raised her voice to the point Decker took a small step back because he thought she was going to snap and jump him, "_Everybody_ knows the A-Team is the best, _anybody_ tries going up against them, they _never_ win, you've gotten your own butt handed to you more times than anyone can count and _you_ were brought into this because you were supposed to be among the best, far better than Lynch, remember? All the crooks in the world can't outsmart the A-Team and if they can't, then the CIA might just have to rely on them for a few of their own missions too, because crooks don't come any bigger than that. Think about it, Decker, all they have to do is say they'll pardon the A-Team if they do so many jobs for them, and then they keep saying 'one more mission, one more mission', and they won't get pardoned."

Even she didn't know where all of this had come from, but putting it all together, it seemed to make sense, even though she could tell Decker wasn't sold on it.

"Think about it, Decker," she said, "In the Army, A-Teams are a dime a dozen, it was only _this_ A-Team that was actually able to hit the bank of Hanoi for all it was worth, _and_ break out of the stockade, _and_ get back here to L.A. and stay off radar for 10 years, _and_ put everything they ever learned in the Forces to work helping the widows and orphans and old ladies and disabled soldiers and mom and pop businesses that every organized criminal in civilization has a target on. They've gone after _everybody_: protection rackets, loan sharks, crooked unions, drug cartels, kidnappers, motorcycle gangs, a rogue SWAT Team, moonshiners, horse thieves, Nazis, power hungry cultists, corrupt prison guards and wardens _and_ sheriffs _and_ deputies _and_ uniform cops, the _mob_, terrorists, dictators, diamond smugglers, animal poachers, slave traffickers, tong gang members…" she paused for dramatic effect and pointed out, "I _could_ go on, Roddy, but neither one of us wants to be here all night."

Decker still seemed unfazed by her theory and flatly asked her, "And why would any of this be of any interest to _anyone_ in the CIA?"

"Well can _you_ do it?" Jean asked, "That's the point, they do what nobody else can, _nobody_ means the Agency too. Of course theirs could be a matter of can-but-won't seeing as how there's no money in it, and that's all any organization is truly after. But if they get someone else to do their dirty work for them, then _they_ get to sit back and live high on the hog without getting their hands any dirtier by in-person contact than they already do."

For once Decker seemed to actually be considering what she said, then in one turn that demeanor fell away and he barked at her, "You're insane."

Jean just looked at him, then she shook her head slightly and replied, "I'm far _more_ than just that. And sometime in the next few days, I'm going to give that _general_ a good idea of what it is."

"And _how_," Decker asked her, "Do _you_ know that the A-Team won't be back before that?"

Lacking Hannibal's finesse for these sorts of answers, she flatly replied, "I'm a Gemini, we know everything."

"I'll just bet," Decker dryly remarked.

"It doesn't matter in any case since you're going to be without the resources to find out," Jean reminded him, "Now, for the last time, about Stockwell…"

"I told you before we _don't know_ where he is," Decker barked at her.

Jean kept her head and calmly responded, "Yeah I know, I already read through all your reports. But I'm keeping my eyes open for him and the minute I find out he's back in this country, he's a dead man. He may _be_ CIA, he may _not_, it doesn't matter, he's _dead_." She turned and headed for the door, but just as she started to open it, she closed it again, turned around on her heel and said, "Oh, there's just one more thing."

"And what is that, Columbo?" he sneered.

Very calmly, very reserved, Jean pointed to him and said, as subtly as if she was giving directions to a laundromat, "If you _ever_ put a bullet into one of those guys, I'm going to splatter that wall with whatever miserable excuse for brains you have in that fat skull of yours." Then she resumed a small smile and chippered, "Nighty-night," and headed out the door.

Decker would've taken some small comfort in the idea of being replaced if it meant he wouldn't have to put up with _that_ thing anymore, but he did remember that she knew where he lived. Luckily shooting trespassers was still perfectly legal in this state.

* * *

Jean shed the last of her MP disguise and tossed the clothes into the backseat of the car she'd borrowed from the film studio. Then she went over to her car, swung the door open, doubled over in a choking fit that felt like her lungs were being ripped out, and after a couple minutes when nothing came up, she decided it was safe to get into her car. As soon as she pulled the door closed however, all energy was gone and she keeled over the whole front seat and stayed there for a few minutes, breathing heavily and groaning and waiting for the feeling to pass.

She knew she was an idiot for going to Decker this soon and starting everything up again, but it couldn't be helped; it _had_ to be done when the A-Team wasn't here to try and stop her. And she _had_ to get word to Decker about his inevitable replacement. Harlan Fulbright. Boy his parents must've hated him. Admittedly, she didn't know much about the man, but he was a general, just as Bullen, Decker's superior, was a general, and replacing a colonel with a general couldn't be good. Someone who could make it to the rank of general clearly wasn't incompetent enough to let politics or morals or ethics get in the way of his career. That wasn't just a matter of being mean, that was a matter of being smart, well smart_er_ than Decker, and that was something they just _couldn't_ have. She was in no mood to break in someone new by crashing her car into his again and then attacking him like a rabid dog.

He was a minor obstacle though, the real problem was Stockwell. Stockwell was still out there somewhere and he had to come back sooner or later. Decker's lack of imagination, to say nothing of reasonable deduction, disappointed her very much. The last time they saw Stockwell he had over 100 men under his command, transporting a plane loaded with who knew what, out of the country, now if he _wasn't_ CIA, just _what_ did Decker think he was doing and _where_ in the hell did he get all of those men working for him from? They had to come from somewhere, and _what_ could a general nearing his twilight years have to offer if he was on the level?

Ohh, her whole body was hating her now for that little show. Her back hurt clear from top to bottom, her legs still hurt anytime they touched something, and now, possibly a late-set sign of withdrawal, her stomach was constantly turning and flipping on her for no reason. Even her arms were killing her and felt like they were about to fall off. She'd doped herself up as much as she could on the weaker pills so she'd be able to go in and do what she'd just done without screaming in agony every single time she moved; that performance waited for nothing, Belushi would probably have been proud.

The top was up on the convertible but the windows were down and let the cool night air in. That air, there was just something about it, it was absolutely intoxicating for sleep. Jean stretched out against the front seat and felt her feet touch the door. She was just too tired, and too sore, and too miserable, to even think about starting the car up and driving home, so she decreed to just stay here in the parking lot for the night. What the hell could possibly happen to her here?

* * *

Stevi opened the front door and all but threw herself into her boyfriend's arms, exclaiming, "Oh Tony!"

In return, the man stepped into the house and kicked the door shut behind him and asked Stevi, "Are you alone now?"

"Oh yes," Stevi told him, "You don't have to worry about that. Tony, I want to talk to you."

"What about?" he asked.

"Oh, not here," Stevi grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the stairs, "Let's go up to my room."

That statement took him a bit by surprise, but he recovered quickly and asked Stevi, "Well if you're alone, why can't we talk down here?"

Stevi just smirked at him and asked tauntingly, "What's the matter, Tony, you scared about something?"

He gave her a sharp glare for a second, and then he took the stairs two at a time, with Stevi following right behind him.

"So you finally get rid of that walking scarecrow?" he asked her as they headed up, "The…fruitcake with the baseball cap?"

"Oh you mean Murdock," Stevi told him, "Yes, he and I have gone our separate ways."

"That so?" Tony asked as they reached the top landing and headed down the hall to her room.

"Oh absolutely," Stevi assured him, "His energy was totally dead, man, ya know?"

Stevi got ahead of Tony and turned on the lights, Tony looked around the room and commented, "Not very personalized, is it?"

"Well I _just_ moved in," Stevi explained, "Once my entourage gets here, there'll be a _lot_ of eclectic energy surging through this place."

"Uh huh," Tony reached over and placed a hand on her back and asked, "And how long do you reckon that'll be?"

"Well they ought to be arriving in a couple…"

Stevi's words were cut off as they both watched Murdock enter the bedroom dressed in a set of silk pajamas that for some reason gave him slight resemblance to a matador and without a word he shuffled his feet over to Stevi's closet and began sorting through everything on the hangers and started pulling dresses and gowns off the rack and holding them up against himself and looking in the mirror. Then he turned and held a rather fetching and borderline see-through gown that looked like an old fashioned negligee, up to Stevi to get an idea how it'd fit her and how she'd look in it.

"Got rid of him, eh?" Tony asked Stevi, "Then what's this?"

Stevi looked embarrassed. Murdock put the gown back and pulled out another one and held it up to himself first and then to her again. Stevi pushed him back and demanded to know, "_What_ are you doing here?"

Looking very innocently about the whole thing, Murdock explained nonchalantly, "I thought you might want me again."

"_Again_?" Tony asked.

"Certainly, I was here earlier tonight," Murdock answered.

Tony's eyes bugged out and he looked like he was going to lose it. Stevi pushed Murdock over to the door and slammed it on him.

"Tony," Stevi went over to him to explain, "I _did_ get rid of him earlier, but he came back tonight…"

"In silk pajamas no less," Tony noted.

"Oh," Stevi waved that off, "That's ridiculous, those aren't _his_ pajamas, they're _mine_."

Tony glared at her and repeated, "_Yours_?"

"Tony," Stevi said as she pressed herself against the door, "You're the one who said when two people's energies sync like ours do, that you shouldn't have to limit yourself to one person because our karma can endure it and get strengthened by it, _why_ does it matter if I'm still with Murdock?"

"I'm not opposed to either of us seeing other people, I have no problem with you being with that walking broomstick _and_ me, just not at the _same_ time," Tony told her.

Murdock stood on the other side of the bedroom door with his ear pressed against it so he could hear every single word exchanged between the two of them, and also to keep on alert at the first sound of trouble. He listened to their conversation and found himself nodding and shaking his head in agreement and disagreement with a lot of the things they were saying.

He heard footsteps moving from the door and he quickly moved to the side so nobody crashed into him on the way out. The first person out was Tony, who stopped in his tracks and looked Murdock up and down and started barking at him, demanding to know, "What're you doing here!?"

"Well I _live_ here," Murdock told him.

"Oh you _do_, eh?" Tony asked, looking from him to Stevi and then back to the pilot again, before storming out and down the stairs.

"It's too bad you didn't hook up with someone named Cliff," Murdock told Stevi.

"Why's that?" she asked.

"Because _then_ I could say," Murdock called down the stairs loudly, "Goodbye, Cliff, I hope you fall off your name!"

They heard the front door slam shut and a few seconds later heard a car start up and pull out of the driveway. Once the coast seemed clear, everybody came out of hiding. Face and Hannibal emerged from behind the curtains at the large windows downstairs, and B.A. came out of the bedroom at the end of the hall and they all met up at the stairs.

"What do you think, Hannibal?" Face asked.

Hannibal put his gun away and shook his head, "Something's wrong."

"What?" Stevi wanted to know, "_What_ was wrong about that?"

"He didn't _want_ to go up to your bedroom," Hannibal pointed out, "He wanted to stay down here on the ground floor, _right_ here by the door."

"So?" she asked.

"So," Hannibal said, "He was counting on getting you alone and dragging you out of this house, maybe even having some friends come in to help once he could signal them that the coast was clear."

"Who would want to do something like that?" Stevi asked.

"You never considered the possibility that Tony could be working with Woody?" Face asked her.

Stevi shook her head, "Why should I?"

"She got a point, Hannibal," B.A. said, "Sucker's been gone for over 3 years, why' he coming back for her _now_?"

"Every new album, every worldwide tour, she just becomes a bigger hit," Hannibal said, "It could be he finally reached a point he decided to come and take back what he believes belongs to him."

Stevi didn't take kindly to his choice of words and replied, "Hey man, I don't _belong_ to anybody."

"And you certainly go out of your way to prove it," Face said with a hint of condescension.

"He's going to pace himself," Hannibal told the others, "He's going to wait until he's sure Stevi's alone and then he's going to come in here and try to snatch her up and haul her out."

"And what?" Face asked, "We just wait until then?"

"Or until we can figure out exactly _why_ he wants to do it," Hannibal said, "Whichever comes first."

"Another waiting period, _just_ great," Face grumbled to himself.

* * *

"What is the matter with me?" Stevi asked Murdock later that night when he'd escorted her back to her room and agreed to stay with her for a while, "_Why_ do I keep winding up with these losers?"

Murdock had seated himself on the footboard of her bed and she sat on the edge of it. He reached over and patted her curled hair and said, "Not your fault, Stevi, you're young, it happens."

"If he _is_ working with Woody then that means he's just been using me this whole time," Stevi said. She got up from the bed and started pacing back and forth around the room and told Murdock, "I thought we _clicked_, I thought we had this great electricity between us, you know? Energies sync, _ha_! I feel like such an idiot!"

"You can't think like that, Stevi," Murdock told her, "You're a great lady, the trouble is you're too nice and too trusting and the untrustworthy people of the world know who is and who isn't and they take advantage of that."

Stevi kicked the bedstead and the whole thing vibrated, Murdock included.

"You know," she said to him, "Every relationship I've ever been in has just been a disaster, there's not _one_ of them that ever ended on a good term."

"Maybe that's 'cuz you juggle them like chainsaws," Murdock told her as he hopped off the footboard, "Now you were right, most animals _and_ reptiles are not _exclusive_, but it _does_ have its advantages, trust me, I know."

Stevi went to the window and looked out into the night, as if she was trying to see where he had gone, or trying to see if the ambush was laying in wait down below. Murdock hadn't moved from where he stood and he watched her back, waiting for the slightest movement that could give any indication to what was going through her mind.

Finally, Stevi turned around and looked at him and asked, "Murdock, will you stay with me tonight?"

Oh boy. They were getting into _that_ area again. Ordinarily there wouldn't be any reason for him to even give the question a second thought, but _this_ time he had to stop for a second and consider where this might be going. But, Murdock couldn't tell if this was against his better judgment or not, he finally concluded, "Sure." When Stevi turned around, he could tell he'd made the right call. Gone once again was the carefree expression on Stevi's faith, and he could see the fear and paranoia sinking in again. Up till now Stevi hadn't wanted to believe that Tony could be involved with what was going on, but it didn't look like she had much choice now.

Murdock took over watching the window while Stevi went into the bathroom to change for the night. He drew the curtains shut just as he heard the door opening and Stevi reemerged dressed in her blue floral nightgown; she looked like she'd aged 10 years in 5 minutes, but Murdock knew part of that could be credited with the simple removal of makeup. She moved skittishly over to her bed and dug her feet under the covers and slowly the rest of her body followed suit. Murdock took one final look out the window for any would be intruders, and then stepped back over to the bed. Stevi had buried herself under the covers, Murdock slipped onto the other side and stayed on top of the covers, propped his arms behind his head and watched the clock on the wall. As the night wore on, his eyelids started to get heavy and slowly went down, and then up again, and down, and up again like a set of defective window shades. Then they went down again, and stayed down this time, and he slumped back against the pillows, uncrossed his feet, and finally fell asleep. Among his final conscious thoughts for the night was he was looking forward to finishing this job so he could go home and sleep with Jean instead, it had to be better than _this_.

* * *

Jean opened her eyes and tried to see her surroundings despite the dark. She rubbed her eyes to clear her vision but it didn't help much. It was dark, she could feel the night breeze, she could see dim lights from out the window. It must be going on 2 o' clock in the morning, maybe later. She lay back and pressed her head against the cushioning and tried closing her eyes again. And then something occurred to her.

One of the last things she remembered was falling asleep in her car, that she had left at the studio. So why _now_, it was starting to dawn on her, was she in a bed? It was almost impossible to mistake the difference in the front seat of her car and the soft mattress beneath her. About any sleep she'd gotten the past few nights was _not_ in a bed, if she slept at all it was in a chair in the living room or on the couch. It was _so_ easy to get sick and tired of sleeping in either of those places, even though they were also manufactured for comfort, they weren't soft like this, there was no mistaking it. So _how_ had she gotten here? She tried to think. She sure as hell didn't remember getting up any stairs, so if she _was_ back home, then this had to be B.A.'s bed on the ground floor. Except where was the dip? There _was_ an unmistakable dip in that bed from having to withstand the weight of a 230 pound mudsucker on a nightly basis; even now that they seldom spent the night here, that dip was in the mattress to _stay_. So if it wasn't B.A.'s bed, then whose was it and how had she gotten there?

Oy, she should never have laid down in the first place, it was impossible to get up, it was near impossible to wake up enough to really get a look around the place. As best as she could, she tried to get up enough to a sitting position on the bed to have a look at the room to try and figure out where the hell she even was, but that didn't work and she fell back against the mattress again. She closed her eyes and decided to try going back to sleep, she'd figure it out in the morning. That had been what she _was_ thinking anyway, when out of nowhere she felt a hand stroking over her hair. She tried opening her eyes to see who the hell was in the room with her, but it didn't work. She felt herself sinking even deeper against the mattress as she felt a weight from the other side of it, and heard a low 'shhhh' as she felt herself starting to conk out again. Every inch of her body should've been resisting sleep and she should've been hopped up on adrenaline to find out what was going on and what potential danger she was in and she should've _realized_ what potential danger she could be in, but she was just too tired to even try. Her eyelids had simply become too heavy to even try keeping open.


	16. Chapter 16

Jean got up with the sun the next morning. The light was just starting to come in through the window from far out east and the morning air was almost chilly. She fell out of bed and got to her feet and walked over to the window and saw the light starting to bring some color to the otherwise gray scenery outside. She still felt out of it from last night and took her time getting up and around. She found a full length mirror over to one wall and tried taking a look at the bruises on her back to see if there was any change in them. From what she could see, though it wasn't much, they looked like they were starting to turn colors. _Good_, she thought, maybe in a few days they would start to fade and disappear. But it was obvious that the ones on her legs were going to take a while longer to fade out.

She turned and all but jumped out of her skin when she heard the bedroom door open. She heard the intruder call out, "Hey!" before she actually saw him.

Jason Crowley froze in the doorway at the unexpected sight of Jean without her shirt on and he quickly backed out and called after her, "Whoops, sorry!"

Jean turned to get one more look at the bruises on her back and she half called to him, "No harm, no foul." Any harm had been done long before this.

Jean put her shirt back on and padded out to the living room where Crowley and Kellerman were seated at a table discussing something among themselves.

"_Oh_ my aching _everything_," Jean grumbled as she made her way over to a chair and carefully sat down on it.

"Are you insane?" Crowley asked her.

"That _is_ a subject open for debate," Jean replied as she rubbed her side.

"What the hell were you thinking trying to sleep in your car at the studio?" Crowley asked, "You know _any_ idiot could've snatched you up."

Jean let her head fall against the table and she replied with her eyes closed, "And any idiot _did_, _you_."

"What _happened_ to you?" Kellerman asked as he noticed how stiffly she moved.

Jean grunted down a moan and answered, "Car crash."

"At the studio?"

"No, recreationally," she replied.

"So what the hell were you doing at the studio?" Crowley asked.

"The guys are gone, I can't stay home all day in an empty house, I'll go out of my mind," Jean said, "I wish they were home, or at least that I could call Hannibal…I need to get his opinion on something."

"So why don't you?" Kellerman asked as he watched Jean fidget and reposition herself several times before she was finally able to slump forward on the table comfortably.

"Decker's been drummed out, his replacement might _just_ be smart enough to tap the lines," Jean answered, "I'm not having them sent back to Fort Bragg on my account."

"You were mumbling in your sleep half the night, what have you gotten into with these people?" Crowley asked.

"That remains to be seen," was her only answer. She worked her eyes open and picked up a sheet of paper with something typed on it, "This the storyline for your movie, Jason?"

"Part of it," he answered and, eyeing Kellerman, added, "We've been having…creative differences on the matter."

"Hmm, no kidding," Jean looked to Kellerman and asked, "How'd he rope _you_ into this?"

Kellerman just shrugged.

"One thing we can't agree on is the names," Jason told her, "Who knows? This could actually be good, or at least gain a cult status, and in either case, you want a name that's gonna stick with people."

"Like what?" Jean asked, "Like Isaac Newton?"

"People know names like 'Rambo' or 'Han Solo', they're household words, how the hell do people come up with something like that that everyone's going to remember?"

Jean shrugged and remarked, "They also come up with other names that are easier to stumble on, 'James Bond', 'Tony Montana'…'the Aquamaniac'."

"Ha-ha-ha," Jason dryly replied.

"Well that alone has had us stumped for three days," Kellerman explained, and to Jason he added, "First of all I think we need to come up with something better for the dad since he is a key part of the story, something that's going to get people's attention like…oh…I _had_ it," he grumbled and hit himself in the head and asked Jason, "_What_ was the name of that white haired guy on the old 'Jonny Quest' cartoons? The bodyguard?"

"Race Bannon," Jean answered as she picked her head up from the table. The two guys looked at her and she added, "Everybody knows that. And how ironic," she let her head fall on the table again, "If they'd ever turn that into a live action show, Hannibal would be perfect for the role _if_ he could ever show his face. He could get that part on his looks alone, his personality pending."

Through the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a crumpled up sheet of paper. She reached out and dragged it over to her and opened it up to see what was on it.

"Molotov cocktails," she read, "Nice touch."

"Sure, but here's my question," Kellerman said, "Everybody just thinks that you pour some gasoline in a bottle, stuff a rag in the top, light a match and pitch it."

"That _is_ the general idea," Jean said.

"Sure, that's what _every_ movie does, but it's not realistic. They need a thickening agent added to them to really work. And if we actually _put_ that in this film, that'd be going the extra mile considering it's the kids that are going to use them. But _what_ would they know about that?"

"Well, dish soap is used all the time," Jean murmured half to herself, "But if you wanted to _really_ spice it up…it's also a well known fact that _blood_ is used to thicken the gasoline and kerosene. You could have them arguing about taking that route, give one of them a mini-speech about patriotism, that they should be willing to _bleed_ for their country and that's just one more example of how it could be done."

She closed her eyes after that and waited to see what would happen. She didn't hear anything for a few seconds, and then she heard Crowley asking her, "Can you type?"

"Sure I can type, what kind of a question is…" her eyes opened and she looked at him, "What, me?"

"Well you can't be any worse than him," Kellerman said, "He's got a good outline for the whole thing, but he sucks at actually putting the dialogue together."

"I don't get what that has to do with this conversation," Jean told them, "But sure, why not?" She peeled the side of her face off the table and told Jason, "I have to get to the studio by 11 but when we leave for the day I'll break out my typewriter and see what I can come up with to help you."

Crowley's eyes bugged out, "As smashed to hell as you are and you're _still_ going back?"

Jean shrugged helplessly and merely remarked, "Why not? I gotta do something, and it'll give me _something_ to do to keep from going stir crazy until the A-Team gets back."

* * *

"Face, did you happen to get a look at what car Mr. Bianchi came up here in last night?" Hannibal asked.

"Uh yeah, sort of," he answered, "From the window it looked like a dark old Dodge Dart, but I didn't get a chance to check out the license number."

"Two door or four door?" Hannibal asked.

"Uh…two I think," Face said.

"Little cramped if you're bringing company," Hannibal said.

"So what, there was another car we didn't see?" Face asked, "Or Tony chanced coming alone?"

Hannibal folded his arms against his chest and pondered, "Only one set of tracks up in the driveway, but a second car could've stayed out in the street where we wouldn't have noticed. Would you know the car again if you saw it?"

"Hannibal, do you have any idea how many cars there could be like that in this city alone?" Face replied.

Hannibal shrugged half dismissively and commented, "Just a thought."

"What thought, Colonel?" Murdock asked as he and B.A. entered the room.

"Just wondering if there's any way we could get a handle on where Mr. Bianchi is and see where he goes and _whom_ he goes to see."

"Find out who he's working with," Face said.

"And see if any of them would happen to be the infamous Woody Stone," Murdock added.

"Hey Hannibal," B.A. spoke up, "There's something else we gotta consider."

"What's that, B.A.?" Hannibal asked.

"That this _new_ manager could be in on it too," B.A. pointed out.

The other three men looked at each other and considered this possibility.

"In which case her paranoia didn't spread far enough," Murdock realized.

Hannibal shook his head, "David Salto doesn't strike me as being intelligent enough to be in the middle of this."

And right after he said that, he got a prompt earful from the others about how he'd been wrong before.

"Everybody's a critic," he noted.

"So what's the plan, Colonel?" Murdock asked.

"Well," Hannibal said, "_If_ I thought we could trust Stevi to stay here by herself and stay out of trouble…but of _course_ we know that's not reality, _somebody_ would have to stay here with her while the rest of us went out hunting for Tony Bianchi."

"But who'd go where?" Face asked.

Murdock pointed to himself eagerly but Hannibal shook his head, "If there'd be trouble at the house, B.A. would be the best bet to protect Stevi, which would leave the three of _us_ to go hunting."

"Well that works too," Murdock said.

* * *

Dead on her feet, that's what Jean was. She barely got in the door before she dropped everything on the hallway floor and kicked the door shut behind her. Today she was reminded of why she hated working in movies. Those rare moments when it was all action and movement and twist, turn-turn-turn, do this, do that, get in the middle of this bar fight, drive this car at 110 through this closed road, that stuff was fine. It was all the in between stuff that killed her. Waiting around half an hour, an hour, for everything to get set up, everything and everyone get into position, get the lighting right. If it hadn't been for all of that, she would've been fine, but now that the workday was over she was exhausted and just wanted to collapse; her adrenaline had been allowed to come down from zenith too much and too often throughout the day and now fatigue had not only set in, it was winning.

Sure, her back was still killing her and that hadn't done her any favors at the studio, but it was worse when you actually had time to sit down and relax because by the time they were ready to shoot again, your body had gotten use to the newfound, more comfortable position it was in and it was hard to get up and moving at full speed again. But, she'd gotten through another day, unscathed for the most part, now, now she could just fall down on the couch and decompose as she tried adjusting her mindset to figure out _what_ she was going to do with Fulbright. Of course this was the man's first day on the job, it'd take a while before she could find out anymore information about him to help her. Well, maybe later she could pay Decker a visit and see how he was taking to his sudden boot out. Nah, she decided as she made her way over to the couch and fell on it, too obvious, give him a day off from her visits, make him let his guard down, _then_ she'd pay him a visit.

In the meantime, there was still the matter of _what_ she was going to do to Stockwell when she got her hands on him. So many possibilities, but so little time and so limited a choice of what could be done with a human body. And that's when it was really a downside to being a writer, when you were you could come up with an unlimited amount of ways to torture, mutilate, maim and slowly kill someone, but to exercise them in real life, so many choices, and which to pick? Well, obviously it was best to go with something that you knew, and knew would work, that narrowed the list quite a bit for her. On the other hand, sometimes what was familiar was _too_ familiar, maybe this time she had to try something different.

Writers…that reminded her, she'd told Crowley she'd see what she could do for his screenplay when she got home. She got up and made her way over to the table she'd set up for her typewriter and started looking for some fresh paper to use under the sheets she'd punched out before. Now she _really_ wished Hannibal was here, she needed _someone_ to talk to and he was the only other person she knew with Hollywood in his blood. When he _had_ been there she'd been tempted to show him what she'd already tried her hand at for her own scripts. A hundred different ideas had come to her and each of them could go a dozen different ways, and _all_ of them came to a crashing halt long before she was anywhere near done with them. And _now_, if she tried continuing on any of them, she knew she wouldn't get anywhere. For all that wasn't ever going to be done with them, she had half a mind to gather up all the ideas she'd started with and throw them away, or burn them, just get rid of them forever. But she knew she couldn't. They would never be finished but they were _her_ ideas and that was something that nobody could take away from her, but if she destroyed the only evidence of their existence now, then _she_ took it away from herself.

Deciding she could procrastinate for a while, she dug up some of the scripts she'd started on and never gotten more than a few pages' worth done, and sat back on the couch to read through them to see if she could even remember what was supposed to happen once the typeface ran out. She'd had several ideas, and some of them had, at the time of their creation anyway, genuinely seemed good. But all in all, looking at the bigger picture, what did any of them amount to? And what _would_ they have amounted to even if they had been finished? This one, a centennial anniversary slaughter that mirrored the Borden murder case from Fall River, and _this_ one…what if some of the haunted bricks from the garage the St. Valentine's Day Massacre had occurred in, which were reputed to bring misfortune of all sorts to whoever possessed them, had been used in the construction of a public high school? What ominous fates awaited the teenagers that attended there? She tossed that one over her shoulder and picked up another one that was barely two pages long. It had been an inside look to the patients of a mental institution who actually and not surprisingly proved more competent than the staff running the place.

One that had actually made the 10-page limit, an attempt to cash in on the 'old Nazis looking to rebuild the Third Reich' craze that had shook the film and literary world a decade ago, only replace the old Nazis with not so old Croatians, descendants of the Ustasha guards who had slaughtered 800,000 Serbians gleefully, and relocate the Croatians to America where they intended to track down the witnesses who could reveal to the world, their true identities. And that had led her to dig up another one…at the time this had seemed like a good idea too…did Josef Mengele _really_ die when he was said to have drowned? Sure by that time he was about 70, but evil never died. What if he managed to live 150 years on his pure unconcentrated evil? Or…a less serious approach she had taken in a different script, what if someone _believed_ he was still alive and insisted he was still out there somewhere, and looked to find him and send him back to hell where he belonged? To other people it would come off as a comedy, a _joke_, but she'd only _half_ intended it for a joke, she _did_ remember that if she'd ever finished it, she was going to have the suspicions prove correct, that he _had_ faked his death in South America and was still wandering around somewhere. All of these, when they'd first been started, had all seemed like great ideas, what the hell had happened?

Nothing more depressing than to work your whole life and never have anything _finished_ to show for it, just made it look like you sat around all that time twiddling your thumbs when you should've been doing something productive. Always different to walk a mile in the other person's shoes but that's why nobody ever volunteered for the task.

More than once though, and she'd never brought this idea up with _anybody_, many times she'd considered doing a script about the A-Team. Why the hell not? It was a movie, anything she put into it she could claim was a creation of her own imagination mixed with what little knowledge about the Team that the general public had access to. Besides, they were fugitives so they couldn't collect on the royalties. It could be like an unauthorized biography, nobody ever believed there was any truth to them, but they were still fun even if they were absolute garbage. She had a good laugh at that one, make a movie about the A-Team, and then during the middle of a shoot, bring in Decker or Fulbright or whoever, only for them to realize after the fact that they _hadn't_ caught the A-Team, but actors portraying them, or better yet, their stunt doubles instead. Now _that_ would be a sight to see.

In her mind it had potential, but she'd never put one word of it down on paper, and she didn't see any reason why today should be any different. She flipped through more pages of old ideas and came across one that had been one of her first, and it was one of the shortest but it was also one she was proudest of at the time. The scene had opened with a woman getting the crap beat out of her in her kitchen by some man, a husband, a boyfriend, a mere acquaintance, she'd never really gotten around to specifying. Instead of curling into a small ball and sobbing as was the norm in a lot of those domestic violence TV movies of the week, the woman slowly and without a word, got to her feet, and started hitting him back; punching him, kicking him, even grabbing a broken ceiling fan chain and wrapping it around his neck to choke him. Then she picked up a frying pan off the stove, and beat the man near to death with it.

A line of dialogue, or rather monologue, that she'd put in, though she didn't remember if it was supposed to be directed to a third party in the kitchen, or just to the audience as her own take on social commentary, she'd written: 'After a while you get tired of being smacked around so you start smacking back, and after _that_, you spend the rest of your time improving and _perfecting_ your technique.' It took her back. As a writer, you put yourself into characters, but you also took it a step further and made them everything you were not and could never be but always hoped and wanted to be, they were your alter egos, the _ideal_ you, even if as a whole they were far less than an ideal anything. A low chuckle escaped her, _less_ than an ideal _anything_, that described _her_ pretty well. And that considered, looking back on her brief career as a general nuisance to the men in green, she'd made a pretty good run of it, and she intended to again, with or _without_ the A-Team's help. She gave it a little more thought and finally decided as she shook her head. Brutus was dead, let him stay dead, to go after Fulbright _and_ Stockwell, she would need to come up with something new. _Maybe_ something less bloody, _definitely_ something far less confusing. Brutus and the blood he left behind him were ancient history, neither one of these idiot generals would have the brains to put it together.

* * *

The first day they'd gone out checking every main road, secondary road, back road and alley for any car that resembled the one Face had seen, they came up empty; they'd also searched so many places for so long that Murdock was able to see black and dark blue cars in his sleep. The next day while they resumed the search, Hannibal had gotten a call from Face in on the radio in his car that they'd found a vehicle that looked _very_ similar to the car he'd seen outside the house the other night. He met up with them and saw a dark blue Dodge Dart parked in the middle of an otherwise oddly empty street. Very odd given that the block was outlined with old apartment buildings that somehow seemed to still have people living in them. A glance up to the windows facing the street saw that most of them had the curtains pulled and the shades pulled down, a vain attempt for those who couldn't afford air conditioning to try and reduce the heat from the hot July sun, so it was unlikely anybody in any of those apartments could see them _or_ the car.

"Any idea whose it is?" he asked the Lieutenant and Captain when he joined them.

"No," Face answered, "That's the problem."

"How is that a problem?" Hannibal asked.

"Hannibal, it could be _anybody's_ car," Face said, "I told you it's common."

"Alright, so it's common, but so what?" Hannibal remarked, "We keep an eye on the car and see who comes out and drives off in it, and if it's Tony, then we follow him."

"Comes out of where?" Face gestured to the buildings on the block, "He could be in any of those places."

"Faceman's got a point, _where_ are we supposed to keep watch so that nobody's watching us?"

"Well the answer to that isn't where, but _what_, _what_ you need to do is make sure when whoever owns the car comes out, the _first_ thing they're going to notice is the car," Hannibal said, "A smashed headlight generally does the trick, _nobody_ looks forward to getting stuck with a $50 ticket for that."

"Uh-huh," Face said not convincingly, "And what happens if it turns out the car belongs to some little old lady?"

"Then we'll come up to her and say we saw the whole thing and give her the money to have it fixed," Hannibal answered as if it was the most common thing in the world.

"Ah, _of course_," Face remarked sarcastically, "Alright, _how_?"

"Got a brick?" Hannibal asked with one of his more trademark and unsettling smirks.

Face and Murdock stood back and kept a lookout while Hannibal nonchalantly walked over to the parked car, went around it a couple times as if he was looking at it, and then casually noted, "Oops" as he smashed the brick against the left headlight and walked off before anybody saw him.

The noise hadn't been enough to bring anybody out, not surprising. They waited around for about 20 minutes before they saw someone come out of one of the buildings in the middle of the block, and that person _did_ go to the car, and _yes_, much to Face's surprise, that person _was_ Tony Bianchi, who _did_ notice the smashed headlight.

Hannibal murmured to the Lieutenant, "His first stop will probably be to the garage to get it fixed and from there he'll get a different car to use until the light's fixed, so we have to find out what the temporary car is and where he goes from there."

* * *

"What we found out," Hannibal explained to Stevi when they'd returned late that afternoon, "Is that Tony _was_ going to meet some people, we didn't happen to see Woody among any of them but all the same it's obvious that he's in on something. Trust me, you wouldn't want to know the people he went to see."

"How many, Hannibal?" B.A. asked.

"As far as we could tell? We counted about six, but there could be more," he answered.

"Who was it?" Stevi wanted to know.

"Well we didn't get their names," Face told her, "But I'd say it's a safe bet they're the local branch of neighborhood thugs who muscle their way in on anyone unsuspecting."

"_And_," Hannibal added, "I'd say it's a safe bet that they're _all_ going to be coming here to pay us a visit soon."

"Which means we gotta get ready for them, right, Hannibal?" B.A. asked.

"Which means, B.A.," Hannibal corrected him, "We put out the welcome mat."

"Uh huh," B.A. grumbled.

"Wired like a Cong shoeshine box, right?" Murdock asked.

"Mmm, something like that," Hannibal replied, "Of course, six inch nails would work nicely too."

B.A. rolled his eyes and shook his head, Hannibal was definitely on the jazz once again, it was as plain as the nose on his face.

Stevi shrugged confusedly and asked, "So now what?"

"Ah, well…" Face tried to think what the best way to tell her was.

Murdock did it for him, "Now we're gonna booby trap the place for boobs."

"Yeah, something like that," Face added.

Murdock moved over towards Stevi and slinked an arm around her back and said to her, "Tell me, Stevi, where does your aura stand on violence?"

"That depends," she told him, "Is it necessary?"

Murdock moved his jaw and mouth to answer but he seemed to stop himself before anything other than a couple sounds came out, and after giving it a little thought, answered, "Yes, I'd say so."

She smiled at him and said, "Then I'm all for it, what're we going to do?"

Murdock chuckled to himself and smiled at her and said, "Oh boy Stevi, someday you're going to make some man _very_ lucky, you know that, don't you?"

* * *

As it turned out, they wouldn't have had to hurry to get everything set up because nobody came out to the house until the next day. It was going on 24 hours since the A-Team had gotten the house ready for their 'visitors' when they actually saw the cars arriving. Three black sedans had sped up to the driveway, screeched to a sudden halt and they saw about six men with guns come charging out of them and up to the house. Hannibal had seen this from the top window in the house, he watched and when he was certain that it had been timed just right, he pressed the buttons on the remote he'd had B.A. rig up. The next thing he heard was the blasts from the two shotguns they'd set up over the front porch. It had slowed them down but hadn't completely stopped them, he knew that it wouldn't. A few of them got off several rounds from their own guns but Hannibal knew it wouldn't do near the damage they had figured it would, since all of them had spent most of the previous night reinforcing all the front windows and the front door with the closest thing to armored plating that they'd been able to put together on such short notice.

Hannibal looked at the other set of buttons on the remote and juggled it from hand to hand as he seemed to be debating with himself. In a 'bad little boy' tone he said to himself, "If I do it…I'll get a whooping…" and in his more normal voice he added, "Of course I don't know why I'm thinking about it because I'm just going to do it anyway." He went to the window and tried to time it just right. He pressed the buttons and listened to the several screams of pain as several spikes popped up through the floorboards on the front porch. Those six inch nails _did_ work wonders. Hannibal shrugged helplessly and said to himself as he tossed the remote away, "I dood it." Then he scrambled across to the back of the house and climbed out of another window and slowly made his way down to the ground to help the others.

By the time he made his way around front to where the action all was, he could already hear rapid gunfire, but he wasn't concerned. As soon as he could see around to the front he confirmed what he already knew, it was B.A. and Murdock shooting out the tires of the assailants' would be getaway cars, by the time they finished, all three cars looked like Swiss cheese.

"Sorry boys," Hannibal said as he drew his own rifle on the men, "Looks like you'll be hitching from here." He noted the shocked looks on their faces and added as he adjusted the aim of his gun, "I'd suggest you put those down before one of you winds up with a hole the size of a grapefruit blown in you."

The men all dropped their guns, Hannibal realized only after the fact, a little _too_ quickly. B.A. and Murdock had been keeping their eyes on the pack of men by the door and so nobody had noticed anyone coming up behind Hannibal, and even he hadn't realized it until he heard the click of a gun and felt the muzzle pressing into the back of his skull.

"Nice try, Mr. Smith," he heard a voice say, "Now _you_ drop it."

Too late, B.A. and Murdock turned when they heard the same instructions. Hannibal just shrugged slightly and tossed his gun on the ground and put his hands up. He watched as B.A. and Murdock also dropped their guns, then he turned slightly to get a glimpse of the man behind him and said in his usual unflappable tone, "Woody Stone I presume, I've heard much about you, and _none_ of it good."

He grunted when he felt the gun hit him between his shoulder blades, it sent his head tilting back and he just about saw stars.

"Where is she?" Woody demanded to know.

"Uh, where's who?" Hannibal asked.

"You know who, Stevi Faith, where is she?"

Hannibal shook his head to clear it and said as he blinked a few times to make the spots go away, "Uh…Australia, she went to meet the aborigines."

He was hit again and the spots got brighter, but he decided to drag this on for as long as he could. But Woody had other plans. Hannibal felt the gun pressing into his spine and Woody said to him, "I'm done playing games, either you tell me where she is or you get it."

"Okay, okay," Hannibal said as he raised his hands higher, "She's in the house."

"For your sake, you better hope you're telling the truth," Woody warned him.

Hannibal rolled his eyes since he had his back to the man. He watched as the other men went into the house and he chanced saying to Woody, "And Mr. Bianchi of course was another one of your players in this act, right?"

"Stevi never changes," Woody said, "Not when it _counts_."

Hannibal nodded slowly, "You knew everything Tony had to be for her to notice him and take an interest in him, then you were able to keep tabs on her."

"That's right," Woody told him, "I'm the one who found her, _I_ discovered her, she was _my_ property."

"Funny, I thought that was outlawed about a hundred years ago," Hannibal said, earning another sharp blow to something he might need later.

"It's like when you're a kid and you go to the beach, spend all day making the perfect sandcastle, then it's time to go home, you stomp the castle down so no other kid can play with it. That's what Stevi is, I made it and it was mine to destroy."

"Hmm, if you can't have her then no one else will," Hannibal noted, "Sounds more romantic when The Police sing about it. You're an oversized spoiled brat, Woody, you should've grown up about 20 years ago."

"If you don't shut up," Woody warned him, "_You're_ not going to get any older."

"Oh I wouldn't say _that_," Hannibal said.

The next thing anybody heard was an explosion of gunfire coming from the roof where Face was positioned and letting off about a dozen warning shots, creating the perfect distraction for Hannibal to get the drop on Woody and subdue him. Once he was knocked out and officially declared not a problem for the time being, they went into the house to see just _what_ had become of their other guests.

They'd all walked into the booby traps with open eyes, naturally, nothing more efficient than hiding in plain sight. Two of them were hanging by their heels from the ceiling after they'd triggered a couple of trip wires. Another one had been hit in the head by a swinging sledgehammer and lay out cold on the floor. A fourth had been bombarded with a couple dozen tin cans in the kitchen as soon as he stepped in the doorway and was crumpled on the floor with a very bad migraine. And as for the other two…one had taken the wrong turn and fallen down the basement stairs in the dark and _still_ had the doorknob in his hand, and the sixth man…was missing. They went up to the second floor to see if maybe he'd gone up there to look for Stevi, and he _had_, and he was sprawled out across the second story hall floor with a rag gripped in his hand. Hannibal's nose picked up on a familiar scent. "Homemade chloroform."

One of the bedroom doors opened and Stevi came out and said, "Well I had to do _something_, didn't I?"

"I told Face to get you out of here and put you where you wouldn't be in any danger," Hannibal told her.

"He _did_," Stevi insisted, "I just came back once he went to climb on the roof. You guys went to all this trouble to protect me, the least I could do was help."

Face smacked himself on the cheek and murmured to Murdock, "She's about as bad as Jean."

"And about as effective," Murdock replied.

"And would it do me any good to ask _how_ you knew to make chloroform to use on them?" Hannibal asked.

"Murdock told me," Stevi answered.

Murdock's eyes widened as he replied, "Not to _use_ I didn't."

"It doesn't matter now," Hannibal said, "Let's get everybody together, _then_ we'll go find our friend Tony, and _then_ we're going to return you to your manager, Stevi."

"And then _we_ can go home," Murdock added.

"Hurray," Face dryly noted.

* * *

"Are you sure that you got everybody involved in this?" Salto asked Hannibal, "You couldn't have missed someone who's still out there?"

"I'm pretty confident we got the whole operation busted wide open," Hannibal told him, "Of course if you two encounter any further problems, you know how to get in contact with us."

"You guys have amazing timing," David said, "Stevi's concert is in a few days and now that it's safe for her to go out in public again, she's got to get to rehearsal."

"You worry too much, Dave," Stevi told him.

"Well, right about now the police should be processing Woody and his whole crew," Hannibal said, then he turned to Salto and asked him, "Mind if I use your phone for a local call?"

"Go ahead," he said. To the other members of the Team he added, "I don't know how to thank you guys."

"Oh, covering our fee will be thanks enough," Face said, receiving a sharp elbow by Murdock.

Stevi went over to Murdock and told him, "I feel good things in store for you guys, your energy's all in the right place."

Murdock grinned sheepishly and turned a little pink as he replied, "Thanks, Stevi."

After a couple minutes on the phone, Hannibal hung the receiver up frantically and went over to Face and murmured to him, "We've got to get back as soon as possible."

"What's the matter?" Face asked.

"I called down to the studio to tell Jean we were wrapping everything up here," Hannibal told Face and shook his head, "They said she hasn't been to work in three days _and_ she's _not_ answering her home phone either."


	17. Chapter 17

Once the A-Team got back to their van, they sped to Jean's house, none of them wanting to admit what could have happened but all of them thinking it, including and perhaps especially Murdock. Murdock tried to reason with himself, there were a dozen possible reasons why nobody had seen Jean and why she wasn't answering the phone, but every time he tried to think of what they were, instead he just started thinking about all the _other_ possibilities and about started hyperventilating.

They finally reached Jean's block and one thing they noticed first was that the car wasn't parked out front, but it wasn't always. The front door hadn't been left open but it wasn't locked either, they went in and started calling her name as they went from room to room, tearing the place apart.

"Jean? Are you in here?" Hannibal found his way to the back pantry and looked at the giant chest freezer.

It was almost too ridiculous to believe, but for a moment he entertained the possibility that she might've been trying to clean out the freezer. He remembered their past conversations about how whenever she tried leaning in to do it, she about fell in, and it made him flash on that old urban myth about the bride who got locked in a trunk during a game on her honeymoon, and years later someone opened it to find her skeleton still wearing the white dress. He threw the lid up and saw Jean wasn't in it, only about $400 worth of frozen groceries; frozen pizzas, expensive meat, blanched and frozen vegetables fresh from the store. He knew those hadn't been there when they left, and he took that as a good sign, obviously she hadn't just run out on them, she _had_ been planning on sticking around.

"Find anything?" he asked B.A. as he joined him out in the living room.

B.A. shook his head, "Nope, no sign of her anywhere."

Hannibal looked around the room and tried to remember what it had looked like when they'd last been here. Jean had been sleeping on the couch, the bedding was long since gone. She'd had Murdock bring down about 20 books and writing materials to keep her occupied while they were gone, those too were also gone now, the coffee table was as cleaned off as the kitchen table had been. He also noted the table for her typewriter was still up but the typewriter wasn't on it now, and he tried to remember _where_ Jean put it when she wasn't using it.

"Check the phones?" Hannibal asked.

"They' all hung up and working," B.A. told him, "Ain't anything wrong with them, when you called, it rang here."

"Hannibal!" they heard Face call as they heard the Lieutenant's footsteps racing down the stairs.

They met Face out in the hall when he was about six steps from the floor, and he grabbed the banister with one hand and it seemed to be the only thing keeping him from toppling over the railing.

"What's going on?" Hannibal asked.

"Jean's nowhere in this house and Murdock's going out of his _mind_," Face told the other two men.

And given that the man in question was one who prided himself on having accomplished that years ago, they knew that something was wrong. They ran up the stairs after Face and followed him to Jean's bedroom where they found Murdock sitting in the middle of the floor rocking back and forth as he stared at the floor and said lowly to himself, almost in a chant, "This isn't happening now, this _can't_ be happening again…" over and over.

B.A. pushed past the other two and made his way over to the Captain, bent down, wrapped his python arms around the scrawny pilot's waist and pulled him to his feet and told him, "Come on Murdock, get up."

Murdock looked to Hannibal with the clearest 'help me' sad puppy look on his face and he seemed to be struggling with himself not to fall apart as he explained, "Hannibal…I can't go through this again…I can't lose her again."

Hannibal took a step towards him and grabbed Murdock by the shoulder and squeezed it firmly and told him, "Take it easy, Murdock, we can't jump to any conclusions."

And here too, Hannibal could tell as he looked around that something wasn't quite right, and he tried to put his finger on what it was. He hadn't seen the game room but from what parts of the house he had seen, something he'd noticed was that the house wasn't torn up. There was no sign of a struggle, no sign of forced entry, no blood anywhere, that all had to be good. But then what was going on? And then, it seemed to come to him. He had B.A. let go of Murdock and took the Sergeant's place standing behind the Captain, he put his hands on Murdock's shoulders and said to him, "Murdock, take a look around the room, and tell me if anything's missing."

Murdock didn't understand what Hannibal was getting at, but he did look around the room, yes, he knew that Hannibal was right. He couldn't say _what_, but he could tell from looking around that some things _were_ missing from the room, little things, nothing major, maybe some of the otherwise scattered clothes that hadn't made it to the closet, and a few of the...what, two thousand?, books that were stored in the room, but what did it mean? He did notice also the lid of her trunk seemed emptier compared to when he last saw it, but once again he couldn't pinpoint what was gone, except maybe a couple half eaten candy bars.

"Yeah," he answered, "Yeah, there's some stuff missing, I don't remember what though."

Hannibal went over to the closet and opened the door and looked on the floor. There were some boxes and some half folded blankets, and…a rectangular indention in the carpet.

"What was here, do you remember?" Hannibal asked.

"A s…a suitcase," Murdock said, his eyes widening at that realization.

"And her typewriter's gone too," Hannibal noted, "So we know what _didn't_ happen, Jean hasn't disappeared, and she wasn't kidnapped, she's just run away, but the question is why?"

"And where?" Murdock added.

An idea came to Face, "What about our house?"

Hannibal turned to him, and said, "If she _is_, then she _won't_ answer the phone out there."

The four men looked to one another as they considered this possibility.

"Let's go," Hannibal said.

* * *

Murdock about broke down the front door rushing into the house, and as he entered he called out her name loud enough for people in Salt Lake City to hear. He didn't even wait to hear if there was any answer, he tore off up the stairs, with the others following close behind. Hannibal had to hand it to Jean, if she _was_ here, she was doing a good job of making it look like she wasn't. Her car wasn't parked out front, none of the lights were on, there wasn't any TV blaring, no radio playing, no sign whatsoever that anybody was currently occupying this house.

As if acting on some instinct, Murdock ran down the hall to his room and threw the door open and turned on the lights. If he had a hunch, it paid off because Jean _was_ in the room, in his bed, _and_ the guys noticed, hadn't moved despite all the ruckus.

"Jean!" Murdock exclaimed as he ran over to the bed and jumped on it and landed beside her. He tried to wake her up but she wasn't responsive. She lay on her stomach with her face turned to the side and half buried in his pillow and one arm high up and spread across it, pinning it to the bed.

Hannibal spotted the bottle of pills on the nightstand. He picked it up and it shook like a baby's rattle, "If she took them, it couldn't have been much." He popped the cap off and poured the pills out on the nightstand to count them. Face took the bottle from him and read the label and told him, "It's sleeping pills."

Murdock reached under her and pressed his hand against Jean's chest to feel her heart beating, it was steady. He reached under the covers and pulled up her other hand and felt for the pulse in her wrist. It seemed normal, but he knew he couldn't allow himself to calm down until he knew what the verdict was.

Hannibal finished counting the pills and compared that number with the one on the bottle label and heaved a sigh of relief and told Murdock, "She didn't overdose, only three of them are missing."

Murdock seemed unfazed by this revelation, he lay on the bed alongside Jean and stroked through her hair and watched her while she slept, as if she might disappear if he took his eyes off of her. Hannibal felt the relief wash through him and his legs suddenly felt like jelly, he had to steady himself against the dresser to stay balanced. Face just felt all the color drain from his face and then fall back at full force.

Hannibal heaved in and out a few hard breaths as he tried to regain his composure. Suddenly it all came together and made sense. Jean was a reckless person but not careless, there was a reason why she'd done all this, why she'd packed up without a word and come here of all places.

"She came here for a safe place to sleep," he told the others.

The gravity of those words weighed heavily on the minds of the other three men. Looked at _that_ way, it _did_ make sense. Here was an injured woman, recovering, in pain, losing sleep, in desperate need of rest and recuperation, what match could she be if another set of intruders broke into the house and found her? So, she came to a house where not only would nobody think to look for _her_, but for the time being as far as _anybody_ knew, it sat empty and unoccupied. And she hadn't left a note to let them know, incase Decker or someone else broke into the house and found it; she hadn't called them to let them know where she was going just incase somebody would have her line or their line tapped. Her loyalty to them ran deeper than most people could even imagine.

Murdock moved over and practically climbed on top of Jean as he wrapped his arms around her waist and closed his eyes. Jean must've made _some_ progress since they last saw her because she didn't make a sound at the weight added on her back.

"Home again," Hannibal murmured half to himself, and to the others he added, "Since the excitement's died down, let's leave these two alone for a while and get everything unpacked."

Slowly, almost hesitantly, one by one they left the room and left the other two behind where they were in the bed. Face was the last one out and before he closed the door behind him he looked back and saw Murdock laying on top of Jean, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other higher up across her shoulders. Through all of it, Jean hadn't moved one muscle to acknowledge that she knew what was going on…ran away to find a safe place to sleep…Face slowly nodded his head as he thought about it, as hard as she was sleeping now, it made perfect sense.

* * *

Face came back a couple hours later and found that Murdock had hardly moved from the position he'd last been seen in, and the same also went for Jean. But right now Face wasn't concerned about _her_. He went over to the bed and shook Murdock to wake him up, but it seemed that the Captain wanted to be stubborn about it.

"Come on, Murdock, dinner's almost ready," he said.

Murdock merely shook his head, refused to even open his eyes, and maintained his tight grip on Jean.

"Come on, Murdock," Face said.

Murdock just shook his head again but otherwise wouldn't move.

"Any luck, Face?" Hannibal asked as he came into the bedroom.

"Nope," Face answered.

Hannibal went over to the bed and said to Murdock, "Let's at _least_ get you ready for bed..." and moved to grab one of Murdock's sneakers to take it off.

Again, Murdock just shook his head and refused to move or be moved. Hannibal and Face looked to each other, Hannibal just shrugged and told the nearly unconscious pilot, "Suit yourself," and pulled the covers up on both of them, and motioned for Face to follow him out of the room, quietly.

"Yeesh," Face said out in the hall, "He's got it bad, hasn't he?"

"What he _got_, Face, was scared," Hannibal told him, "He didn't want to leave her alone in the first place, he _never_ would've forgiven himself if it turned out to be another Cong Christmas. We _all_ know what we were thinking when we couldn't get her on the phone."

Face nodded slowly. "Well…how long do you think it's going to be before they wake up?"

"The pills Jean took are only supposed to knock her out for a few hours, but if she's been running on empty up to this, it could be morning," Hannibal said, "And Murdock? Fear and terror can be equally exhausting."

"She _never_ takes sleeping pills," Face said, "She's the _only_ person in the entire Hollywood zoning who doesn't even keep a bottle of them in the house."

Hannibal's eyebrows raised slightly when Face told him that, and he responded, "Must be very telling then how desperate she was to sleep."

Face thought about it and found himself nodding again in agreement. He hated to admit it, and he _wouldn't_ admit it, not to them anyway, that while they'd been gone with Stevi, he really hadn't been too worried about what was or might happen to Jean while they were gone. He felt like an idiot for it now, he guessed at the time he just figured she could handle anything that _did_ happen but he hadn't really given much thought to the possibility that something, _anything_ could actually happen. And apparently, fortunately, nothing had, but now after the fact it was so easy to consider everything that could've. And that in mind, he guessed it wasn't any wonder Murdock was acting the way he was.

What he didn't know was that Hannibal was having a few thoughts on the matter as well, slightly different ones however. Hannibal had trained all of his men that if they were going to survive, they had to be far more observant than anyone else, but it was obvious to the Colonel that this was a lesson that the rest of the Team only used when they felt a need for it and in between those instances allowed themselves and their senses and powers of observation to relax. In that bedroom they'd only been focusing on what was _plainly_ in front of them. And what _was_ was an unconscious woman in the bed, a bottle of pills on the table, all seemed very simple. It _was_ simple but still a bit more complicated than Face or B.A. realized. Hannibal had noticed the way Jean had had one arm wrapped around the pillow, had her face buried in it, in _Murdock's_ pillow, and even now she was exactly the same way. This hasn't been a headache, there weren't any pain pills in the room, also usually when Jean slept off a migraine she didn't bother burrowing under the covers. But, one thing that hadn't changed even in their absence was that for whatever reason she came here to sleep, she'd done it in the clothes she'd apparently been wearing that day, even now she wouldn't be caught dead in pajamas because of what it represented to her, which more likely meant that she anticipated having to get up at a moment's notice when she was actually conscious.

There was a reason she'd picked his room out of any other place in the house. And it was probably the same reason why she hadn't responded to Murdock's weight pinning her against the bed. How long had she been alone? He didn't even know, but obviously it was long enough to take its toll on her. She'd come back here as a refuge, one place where she could still pick up his scent and cling to it, fall asleep with the pilot's scent in her nose and making its way to her subconscious, as a second best until he was actually back and in person. Who knew? Even now maybe Jean wasn't even aware they were back, they wouldn't find out until she woke up, whenever that was.

* * *

Jean was sore from being on her stomach for so long, no longer asleep but not quite awake yet either, she rolled over, or tried to, halfway to her back she bumped into something behind her on the bed. Nudging it with her knee she realized it was a person, oh brother, she swore if she was in bed with Crowley again…but no, she moved to elbow him and felt something heavy, a leather jacket…that was enough to make her eyes fly open. She turned further onto her side and picked her head up and saw Murdock asleep on the other side of the bed. She couldn't fight back the overwhelming grin that found its way to her face when she saw him.

If Murdock was back then that must've meant the others were back as well. And if that was the case, Jean was sure if the others had known she was up, Hannibal would've had a good laugh at her expense making a joke about Goldilocks, by now they must've found out that every bed in the house had been used previously. She could just hear Hannibal now, mockingly, 'Somebody's been sleeping in my bed', yes but not for long. She hadn't slept anywhere for very long: the couch, Hannibal's bed, the floor, Face's bed, the chair at the table the typewriter was on, even B.A.'s bed with the big dip in it hadn't been comfortable enough to keep her out cold for more than half an hour, an hour maybe.

After what felt like 72 hours but was probably only closer to 50 or so, she realized she couldn't go on. Everything was starting to look like it was in 3D and jump out at her, and everything she heard sounded muffled, like it was coming in through a funnel. Ordinarily she would've been like that far before this point, and she started to consider the possibility that if she didn't stop, and get some sleep soon, then she would die. As exhausted as she had already been when she first showed up, sleep, even a few hours' worth, proved impossible. So in a last resort, she'd retreated to Murdock's room before taking the sleeping pills, hoping that maybe _something_ here would make it easier for her to fall asleep and _stay_ that way; and if it didn't, if something went wrong, if there was a bad reaction to the pills, at least she'd die in the next best place she could possibly be, in Murdock's bed that still smelled like him, that unidentifiable odor that was just _him_, where she could almost feel his presence. How many days had she been here? Days, days' worth of pounding away on that typewriter, and _maybe_ sleeping for half an hour, an hour at a time, before typing for another two or three, and repeat, morning, noon, and night, the nights especially for some reason. She never turned on the TV since she arrived, she hardly turned on the radio, there had been _no_ interruptions out here, and in the beginning that had been fine, but after a while it started to become maddening.

It was such an effort not to wake Murdock up then and there and revel in his return, but ultimately Jean decided against it. She couldn't see a clock anywhere but she could see out the window and it was pitch out, so she'd guess for somewhere between 2 and 3 in the morning. But what _day_? That was the real question. She couldn't even remember what _time_ she'd gone to sleep, let alone what day of the week it had been. Another glance at the pilot sleeping beside her, and it occurred to her that it didn't matter, in the morning she could get all those questions answered. For now, she settled back down on the bed beside Murdock and put her arms around him and rested her head against his chest and fell back asleep listening to the repetitive beating of his heart. Ah, now _this_ she'd missed, _and_ she suspected, she would miss it again, if not often, then permanently, so for now she took the comfort in it that she could while she still had it.

* * *

The next morning, Jean woke up with a mouth like cotton and downed a whole glass of water before she said a word to anybody, anybody meaning the sudden crowd that was gathered in the bedroom, waiting to hear what had gone on in their absence.

"You said you were going back to work at the studio," Hannibal reminded her.

She kept her gaze towards the floor to start off and nodded slowly and said, "I did at first…proved harder on my back than I thought. And after that…Jason Crowley asked me to help him with the screenplay for his movie…a job doesn't have to pay for it to be work, and all I really cared about was something to keep me busy. I figured I might do better if I got away from my place…I come here, I don't have to put up with the phone ringing, nobody to bug me, it's quiet here, figured it might help with the creative process…"

Hannibal nodded, "Yeah, we saw your typewriter downstairs…exactly _what_ were you on for that little duration?"

"A few cans of coke and a fresh bout of insomnia," Jean answered, "I don't know if Jason will be able to use any of it, but he'll have plenty to sift through." She turned to Face and asked him, "How many sheets of paper come in those printing packs, 500?"

"I guess," he shrugged, "Why, you need to pick one up?"

"I burnt through _two_ of them since I got here," she said, blinking her eyes several times as if she still hadn't gotten any sleep, "I also went through three ribbons."

Hannibal's eyes widened slightly, "Sheesh, kid, I don't think even Stephen King ever had a run like that."

"Good for him then, then he never had to feel like I did yesterday," Jean said as she sat back on the bed, "I don't think I've ever been so tired."

"I'd say that's a safe bet," Face remarked, as he recalled their inability to wake her yesterday.

"I don't even remember most of it," Jean grumbled, "I swear if there's nothing in all of that that Jason can use, I'm going to shoot myself."

Murdock was sitting next to Jean on the bed, after that comment he reached over and pulled her towards him and petted through her hair. She looked to Hannibal, sucked in a heavy breath and added, "There's something else that I haven't told you yet."

Everybody was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Hannibal scratched the side of his nose and commented, "Well you _can't_ be pregnant."

"Maybe just as bad," Jean said, "Decker's been replaced."

It was Face who first managed to come up with something to say, and it was, "With what, a pencil sharpener?"

"I'm serious," Jean said, "I found out that they gave him the boot _again_, and replaced him with someone else, _again_."

Hannibal rolled his eyes, "That's Decker for you, he rubs everyone the wrong way."

Jean opened her mouth to respond but decided against it, the joke was too easy.

"So who replaced him?" Face asked.

"A General named 'Bull' Fulbright," Jean answered.

"Ah, the Terror of Toledo," Face said, his overall demeanor seemingly nonchalant, but the widening of his eyes said plenty for him.

She looked up at him and said, "You know him then."

"His reputation precedes him more than anything," Hannibal explained, "And that's the _only_ good thing that can be said about him. And may we presume you've announced your presence during our absence?"

Jean gave a small awkward smile and replied, "Uh, not yet…I've been trying to figure out what approach I wanted to take with this guy." Then she switched, and she was very serious now as she added, "Hannibal, I don't think it'd be a good idea if you guys showed up at the Federal Building this time…"

"Why's that?" he asked.

"I'm not sure, but I think the CIA's infiltrated the Federal Building," Jean said, "I think that they've been keeping tabs on Decker to find _you_, and now that he's gone I think they're going to continue their surveillance through Fulbright. You've gone up against a lot of people before, but when did you _ever_ go up against the CIA?"

* * *

"It _is_ a fair question, Hannibal," Murdock said, "We've tangled with many different varieties of rats but we never got in it with the Agency before."

"A rat's a rat, Murdock," Hannibal insisted, "All it means is we need to try a different kind of cheese."

"Well I think the first thing we have to do is find out if it actually _is_ the CIA and Jean's not just going paranoid on us," Face said, "Of course the question is _how_ do we find out?"

"They read minds," Murdock said.

"Shut up, Murdock," B.A. told him, "We got enough trouble without your usual crazy jibber jabber."

"B.A., I know what I'm talking about," Murdock started to say.

B.A. grabbed Murdock by his jacket and did it with enough force he lifted the pilot off the ground and said threateningly, "Yeah like the times you talk about your invisible dog that ain't there and your crazy bug friends, and cutting up bed sheets, and Bigfoot!"

Murdock tried responding but all that came out was a garbled choke.

"B.A., put him down and let go of him," Hannibal said calmly.

B.A. complied, but added as Murdock was gasping for air, "This serious, fool, we don't need none of your insane jibber jabber making it worse, you got that?"

Murdock didn't so much nod as B.A. throttled him so his head bobbed up and down on its own accord. As soon as B.A. let go of him, Murdock said again, "B.A., I _know_ what I'm talking about, they _do_ read minds," he went to seek refuge behind Hannibal so the mudsucker couldn't chase after him and he grabbed two handfuls of the safari jacket and said to the Colonel, "You believe me, don't you, Hannibal?"

Hannibal craned his neck to see Murdock and he shrugged as he told the Captain, "I confess this is out of my area of expertise. I'm a virgin in this territory."

Jean passed by and commented with a snort, "I find it hard to believe you're a virgin in _any_ territory."

"Ha-ha-ha," Hannibal dryly remarked.

"Hannibal, they _do_ read minds, I know it," Murdock told him.

"Well that's all good and well, Murdock, but the fact remains _how_ are we going to find this guy to find out?" Face asked.

Hannibal didn't seem bothered by this question at all as he nonchalantly told Face, "It _can_ be done. All we have to do is put a spy on their spook."

"Who?" Face asked.

* * *

"I know Hannibal's a master of disguise, I guess if _anyone_ can pull it off, _he_ can," Jean said to Murdock as they stood on opposite sides of his bed slipping on the recently washed and dried sheets, "But I got a bad feeling about him going in to find out what's going on."

"Hannibal knows what he's doing," Murdock said, "If he can fool Decker into thinking he's an old man that fought in World War I, I have every confidence that the Colonel can come through now as well."

"I know it," Jean said, "I just wish I felt better about it."

Murdock thought of something and asked Jean, "Incidentally, how did _you_ find out about Fulbright?"

"V.C. told me," Jean answered, "She's got a job cleaning the good general's house once a week."

"Fulbright?"

"No, General Bullen, Decker's former commander," Jean answered, "She found out about the General being brought in on this assignment."

"Bullen?" Murdock asked.

"No, Fulbright," Jean said, "Sheesh, a general _working_ for a general, what're the odds?"

"How do you figure the CIA's involved in this?" Murdock asked.

"I've been paying Decker a few visits lately before he got the boot," Jean said, "And there's always this same guy at the Federal Building, he looks like an MP, he stands around with the MPs, he acts like an MP, he's _not_ an MP."

"Boy they need to hire new help if it's that obvious," Murdock noted.

"Anyway, Decker wasn't aware of the plant," Jean told him, "I think the CIA is trying to find the A-Team and they're doing it _through_ the Army."

"Jean, even _I_ can appreciate how _crazy_ that sounds," Murdock said.

"But does that make it wrong?" she pointed out.

"Nope," he shook his head without missing a beat.

"I wish you guys hadn't come home so early," Jean said, "As long as you were gone, I knew you were safe, this guy Fulbright could actually be competent, he might find you guys, I was hoping to get him the hell out and get Decker reinstated before that happened."

"Well there's an easy answer to that," Murdock told her, "We'll just lay low for a few days…of course it's easier said than done for _some_ of us more than others."

"You mean B.A.," Jean said.

"The one and only angry mudsucker, he can't lay low, he's like a walking billboard," Murdock replied, "If he sets one foot outside he sticks out like a sore thumb."

"Sore thumb nothing, he sticks out like a drunk at a Baptist revival," Jean commented, "He's all but a giant walking neon sign." The moment passed and she was serious again as she told him, "I'm worried, Murdock."

"Why is it you worry about _us_ going into stuff like this and never yourself?" Murdock asked, "You know you can get into a lot worse trouble than we can."

"How? I'm not a fugitive, I'm not wanted by the government," she replied, and kicked the bedstead loudly, "Murdock…I've got _one_ more shot at getting a pardon for the guys, I _don't_ know if it's going to work, and if it doesn't, I think I'm going to lose my mind."

Murdock turned and looked at her suspiciously, "What do you mean?"

"The president shot down _my_ request for a full pardon, he denied _me_, _can_ he refuse one Colonel and two Generals?"

Murdock got a confused look on his face and he told her, "I'm not sure what you mean."

"No you wouldn't," she said, more to herself than to him, "I had V.C. and L.Z. pull a couple more favors for our side…_while_ we were in Decker's office when it _was_ Decker's office, I stole some of the stationary from his desk, I had V.C. do the same from Bullen's house, _and_ Tommy managed to sneak into Fulbright's office and do the exact same, _and_ we managed to secure three perfect signatures of theirs. Now, if Colonel Roderick Decker, and General Fulbright _and_ General Bullen, _all_ of the United States Army, the _same_ United States Army that arrested and locked up the A-Team in the first place, wrote the President of the United States asking for them to be pardoned, because the Army has already wasted enough time and resources over the past 15 years trying to catch the A-Team, and failed every time, all the while _they_ go all over the world saving lives and helping people…_can_ the president say no to that? Can _he_ turn down Uncle Sam?"

"I don't know," Murdock shrugged, "Might be a lot harder though."

"If _it_ doesn't work…what do I do then?" Jean asked, sounding as helpless as he felt the day before. He didn't know how to answer.

A minute of silence passed between them before he finally said to her, "Don't worry about it, don't _think_ about it right now."

"How can I help it?" Jean asked, "I _could_ have the perfect answer at my fingertips…but what if I'm wrong?"

"Look…just…don't rush anything," Murdock told her, "We'll get through _this_ first and _then_ you can worry about that."

"Lot of good it'll do me if Decker or Bullen _or_ this Fulbright gets killed before I can get the letters written and sent out," Jean said.

Murdock had turned to head for the door but at that comment, he spun back around and asked her, "Why do you say that?"

Jean just shrugged and replied, "I don't know, just an occupational hazard that comes with the territory I suppose. _You_ guys always put your lives on the line, you think the same can't be said for the jerks chasing after you? _How_ many times have those stupid MPs walked away from all those car crashes and helicopter crashes, and for that matter _how_ did they walk away from all of them unscathed?"

Now it was Murdock's turn to shrug as he replied, "Beats me. Look Jean, let's talk about something else."

"Okay," she said nonchalantly, and asked him, "So what was Stevi Faith like?", clearly intending it to be a worse and more uncomfortable topic to bring up.

Murdock just smiled a little as he told her, "Oh you know how rock stars are, 'Where's my Perrier?' 'Draw me a bath', 'shut the curtains, it's too early in the morning to be that bright', 'I want my water at room temperature, too hot! Too cold! I've _never_ been in a room _this_ temperature before!', complain-complain."

"Uh huh, I'll just bet," Jean replied.


End file.
